It's All Coming Back to Me Now
by PrincessJade
Summary: The year is 2305, and Paris is the new Hellmouth. Spike is a watcher of some sorts, and when he has to call the new chosen one, he is shocked to find that she looks exactly like his love from long ago-only she isn't-or is she?
1. Prologue

"I remember that my Grandmother's house was a bit run down, but when one stepped across the threshold he felt the sense of home transude into his veins. Warming one from the inside, until his whole body glowed. It was a rare trait for a house, especially in that day and age, to have. And although the house was small, it was still incredibly venerable."

"The house was four hundred or so, give or take a few years, one was never quite really sure. It was made of wood and nails, decorated in cream-colored siding and real glass windows that, despite their age, gleamed almost new under the bright sun. It was only two stories tall, and still had its original wooden porch and back deck."

"I remember playing cops and robbers with two other neighborhood boys, Devon and Clayton, on that old deck with its chipped white paint. I only saw them when I visited Gram, which was only once in a while, but when we did play we always had such fun. I don't remember laughing so much with anyone but them, except until you came around of course. I'm rambling now. Sorry, moving on."

"The house was strangely elegant compared to its neighboring houses, which stood four or five stories tall. They were modernly decorated in steel siding and big windows that were no longer made of glass, but instead made of some thicker, stonger, and prettier type of plastic that was invented in the early 2270's. They had no real structure, no intriguing dips or hidden curves, and it was the 'what you see is what you get' type of deal. Perhaps that is what made my Gram's house on Revello drive even more beautiful...to me at least. I've always loved intrigue, as you know, and this house could have been built of intrigue."

"It was that cool winter night, when I stepped up onto her porch and raised my tiny hand to knock on her solid oak door, that I decided I wanted her house to be mine when I grew up. I promised myself when I was old enough to get a job and make lots of money like my Daddy, I'd make this house my own. I'd make it a grand sight, so others would appreciate what I saw, and never forget it as I knew I'd never forget it. That was, at the tender age of six, the only goal I had in my life."

"I waited anxiously, for I was never patient, with my blues eyes darting around the front-side of the house with my arms swinging restlessly at my sides, until my mother placed a firm hand on my shoulder and said softly, 'Baby, be patient.'"

"I looked up at my mother meekly, stopped fidgeting, and took her hand in an almost unspoken apology. I hadn't been the easiest child to raise let me tell you. I can remember numerous times that she had to restrain herself from giving me a serious whipping because I knew all the right buttons to push, and as expected, I pushed them as often as I dared. I suppose you could say I was a devious child, but as I later learned, it was something I sort of inherited."

"My mother was a small woman, barely over five feet, which she often told me she got from her grandmother whom she had never met. She had dark brown hair that curled wildly and a sharp angular face, those features made her look like a free spirit, but she had warm green eyes, which showcased her true nature. She was soft-spoken, which she got from my grandfather for he was a kind man, quiet and forgiving. I don't remember my grandfather very well, he died very suddenly when I was five, but the only thing I can recall clearly now-a-days is that he was soft, smelled of dust and books, and spoke with a heavy French accent."

"My grandmother had been fluent in French as well. She had grown up in Paris, met my grandfather when she was seventeen, and together they eloped suddenly to the States four years later following her mother's unexpected death. It seems that a lot of my family's deaths have been unexpected now that I think of it. I'm going off on a tangent again, darling. Aren't I?"

"Well I remember my grandmother was covered in sugar and cookie dough that night she opened the door. She had a wide smile on her lovely face, but she always had a smile for me. My gram was a tiny woman, just like my mother, and her hair was white like a freshly fallen yard of snow. It was straight and tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her hair used to be blonde. I know this from old pictures tucked away in a chest up in the attic that I found a few years after her death, but at that time I had only known her to have beautiful, pure, white hair and I suppose I liked it better that way. I always thought the white hair made her look distinguished."

"She affectionately commented on how I had grown and kissed my cheeks quickly before cradling my face in the palms of her hands. I'll always remember how her voice softened, as did her usually sharp blue eyes, and she told me gently, but met my mother's gaze: 'He looks just like your grandfather.' Then after a moment, she broke their stare, and tugged me through the foyer and into the kitchen. There were dozens of cookies cooling on metal racks, she cooked them the old fashioned way might I add, and when she handed me a ceramic plate full of cookies I was in a giddy-state. She told me, lovingly, 'Here's a plateful, honey. There's milk out in the living room. I've got a story to tell you. So hurry up now, love.'"

"I did as I was told, I was always obedient with Gram, and made my way to the living room. My mother and grandmother followed close behind, talking softly to one another. I only picked up on a few statements: 'Are you sure he's old enough, mom?' My grandmother answered this with: 'He'll be seven in two days, Gianna. There's no need to hide the truth from him now.' This comment, I remember, left me curious and eager to hear the story my Gram promised to tell."

"The living room had been done in earthy tones, dark browns and moss greens. There had been a fire going in the fireplace, a fake log crackling in the golden flames, bathing the room in a velvety glow. I felt this blanket of safety wrap around me as soon as I had inhaled the smoky scent of the room. The scent tugged at my heart as if I should have remembered someone who smelled like that, but my mind had come up starkly blank. Puzzled, I had sat down on the fluffy brown couch and looked imploringly at my gram and mother."

"They had walked in slowly, one with a bright smile and the other with a delicate frown. The mix of facial expressions had me confused, but I sat patiently and waited for my gram to take her place at her rocking chair and my mother to find a spot beside me. My dad has always told me patience is a great thing to learn at a young age. So I surpressed the childish need to speak up and ask what was going on, and I had even managed not to fidget, which was something I often did when I was little. I remember thinking: My daddy would be proud."

"My patience was rewarded when my gram smiled kindly and beckoned me to come sit with her. Acquiescent, I climbed carefully into her lap and placed my cheek against her shoulder. She smelled mildly of rosemary enmeshed with jasmine, covering an underlying scent of sweat and strength that was all her own. I'll never forget her aroma. It was something that soothed and sent one into a blurry state of tranquility, but I remember that night I was nervous and found something very interesting and invisible about the hardwood floor that I had never noticed before."

"Moments passed before I was able to push away the sudden veil of shyness, and when I did, I raised my eyes to meet her aged blue, the color almost identical to my own. She had given me her eyes, the shifting colors of aqua, sapphire, and indigo and the emotional turbulence held within, she gave it all to me. I often wondered, when I was younger, who gave her those eyes and then in a sense gave me mine. I know now, but I hadn't then. I know a lot more now that I'm older and most of it is because of that night, the night my gram told me a story that, to me, seemed older than time itself...and perhaps it was."

"She began her story by telling me of a girl who was destined to fight the evil of this world. The girl, at sixteen, was still sweet and innocent in every way and had only thoughts of school and boys on the brain. She told me about this girl's friends, how they were loyal and true, and saved her sanity at times and ripped it apart at others. She told me about this girl's first love, a vampire, and how she lost him, then gained him back only to lose him once again. She told me how this girl grew into a woman, how she lost her mother, but gained a sister."

"My Gram told me about this woman's gift, how she died to save the ones she loved. She told me of another vampire, a soulless demon, who loved, lost, and honored her memory. She told me how this woman was brought back into this world, how she struggled to find meaning in her life once again, how she gave into the darkness for just a little bit. She told me how this woman hurt, how she hurt herself and how she hurt another. Then she told me how she triumphed over her demons in the end, saved the world for the sixth time in her short life, and found forgiveness in herself. She told me how her life got better for her in the following two years, how her friends, still loyal and true, helped her through the rough times, and she told me how this woman finally died a normal death. A plane crash, she had said with an ironic smile, while she was flying over seas to find some closure."

"Then my gram looked at me, eyes solemn, and told me that was just the beginning of her story. She told me I had to listen very closely. I smiled and told her I always listened, but I still remember my mind frantically trying to play catch up, as she moved onward in her tale."

"Her voice was soft and melodic as she began with, _'It was a warm summer night. The stars were bright and the sky was a cold blue. A sharp, clear-cut, color with the icy glimmer of stars in its depths. The moon, always a contradiction, its color a gentle silver as it hung high in the heavens. Its moonbeams washed softly over a solitary figure, who was a contradiction to the moon itself for he seemed to be carved of cold marble. The year was 2305 and the City of Lights lay before all, a bright beacon warding off the pressing darkness that only a hellmouth could attract...'"_


	2. Chapter One: Reflections of the Past

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(1) Reflections of the Past 

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It's All Coming Back to Me Now   
  
Author's note: Sorry this took so long to get out. I was working 24/7. I hope you enjoy this one, and please, feedback! I'm a feedback whore. lol.   
  
  
Chapter One: Reflections of the Past   
  
  
_There were nights when the wind was so cold   
That my body froze in bed   
If I just listened to it   
Right outside my window   
~Celine Dion_   
  
**Paris, France 2305**   
  
He was pissed off and brooding. He was pissed off because he was brooding...or maybe he was brooding because he was pissed off. In the end, to him, it was all the same. It was a beautiful night. The sky was a lush indigo and it was effulgently speckled with stars. Effulgent. That word tugged at a memory buried deep within, but when it started to surface he pushed it back, as he pushed back so many others, and scowled.   
  
Barefoot and smoking, two of the only things that brought him comfort these days, Spike stood silently out on the cream-colored veranda of his château. At four hundred and some odd years, there wasn't much that made him comfortable, and it wasn't that he was picky. It was just that a hundred years to a vampire seemed like five years to a human and a hundred years to technology was like a bloody millennium.   
  
Things changed so fast that he never really got the chance to find comfort in anything but shagging and his smokes. The barefoot deal was something he discovered recently, after he bought the château with all its different rugs and carpeting, the feel of them under his bare skin always gave him the sense of home. That was a feeling he hadn't felt since his...well he hadn't felt that in a long time. It was nice to feel that again.   
  
He inhaled a deep drag of smoke and hollowed out his cheeks, casting shadows across the elegant planes of his face. Delicate moonlight slanted downward and made him look almost angelic, although he was anything but. His eyes glowed, a moody blue, a bit harder than ice and his hair, still bleached blonde, was spiked tastefully.   
  
He had the look of the devil...a stylish devil...but still a devil none the less.   
  
His taste in clothing hadn't changed dramatically; he still wore all black, but had traded in the Levi's for a pair of tailored slacks and the t-shirts for silk button downs. One could say he was going back to his aristocratic upbringings, but if he was to tell that to Spike's face he'd get a mouth full of fist. Just because he wasn't looking quite punkish these days, didn't mean he'd lost his street edge. He was every bit as dangerous as he was before the soul and even before the bloody chip.   
  
He stood looking down at Paris, his jaw tightening slowly as he threw his fag into the night air and watched it be engulfed by darkness. Moments passed before he placed his elbows on the stone rail and let the tension leave his body in a long sigh, "Bugger this."   
  
Then the veranda doors opened lightly, the sudden noise bringing all the tension back, and he turned around to find his maid peeking her pretty little head in, long lashes brushing against her creamy skin. "Bonsoir, monsieur Guillaume. Il y a un homme ici pour vous voir." [Good evening, Sir William. There is a man here to see you.}   
  
Spiked nodded and let his eyes roam lazily over her young face, but his shoulders had tensed for he had a vague idea of who had come to call. "Qui est-il, Noëlle?" {Who is it, Noëlle?}   
  
Noëlle stepped forward, revealing her petite but curvy frame, and enjoyed the way his eyes slid downward first and then back up to meet her eyes. Her monsieur was quite an attractive man. " C'est Edward, de Londres. Le connaissez-vous, monsieur?" {It is Edward, from London. Do you know him, sir?}   
  
"Ah, oui. Très bien, amour. Envoyez-le dedans." {Ah, yes. Very well, love. Send him in.}   
  
"Oui, monsieur."   
  
He settled back against the stone rail and lit up another fag, the smoke curling from his lips as he smiled at Noëlle's retreating form. She was such a pretty little thing, barely even twenty he thought. She had been working for him since she was sixteen, when she'd been an awkward girl with a boyish figure. She had grown with time, but it was only recently that he had noticed just how much.   
  
He was still contemplating if he'd take Noëlle to his bed or not, when Edward stepped up beside him and murmured, "Hello, Spike."   
  
Edward Bishop had recently turned fifty-seven this year, which was a considerably old, but respectable age. His gleaming silver hair was hidden by a black top hat made of the finest satin that, which Spike was sure, matched his pants and dress coat. But good ol' Eddy had always been a rich bastard, if he remembered correctly. "Bonsoir, Edward. Comment avez-vous été ? Va-t-elle comment Londres et les petits-enfants ?" {Good evening, Edward. How have you been? How's London and the grandchildren?}   
  
Edward laughed a bit nervously,"Uh...I believe you asked about London and my grandchildren? Right?"   
  
Spike nodded and Edward seemed a bit relieved that he'd gotten the translation right.   
  
"They're quite well, thank you. Growing fast and all. Uh...could you possibly refrain from speaking french? Mine is not that good." He said, taking out a thick Cuban cigar. He fumbled around in his pockets, looking for his matches. "You have anything?"   
  
"Of course." Spike pulled a silver cased lighter from his pocket, and deftly flipped the top open and lit the cigar. He saw Edward's slightly admirable gaze and a small grin twitched at his lips, "Years of practice, mate."   
  
Then they were silent for quite some time, just starring out at Paris as they stood almost companionably together. Edward was first to break the silence and his statement rang sharp and true throughout the night air.   
  
"You'll need to call the new slayer."   
  
Spike took a deep drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke from his undead lungs. An eternity passed before he finally found a reply, his voice oddly detached and slightly pleasant. "I know. I was expecting your visit...actually thought it would have been sooner. It's been almost a week and a half."   
  
Edward nodded, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. "It took us a while to find us the new chosen one. Monique was possibly the best we've had this century. We will feel her loss greatly until you have trained the new slayer properly. We can only hope she will be even better."   
  
Spike didn't reply, instead he stubbed out his fag with a controlled hand as his jaw tightened angrily. It was a gesture that had not gone unnoticed by his companion.   
  
"She lived quite a long time, as far as a slayer is concerned...although not at long as--" Edward stopped short at the piercing stare he received from Spike and shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He tossed the cigar to the ground below, more as a mere distraction than anything else, so he could choose his words carefully and he did. He chose very carefully.   
  
"How are the others dealing with her death?"   
  
"It's getting easier for them..."   
  
"You miss her." The old man said unexpectedly. He hadn't planned to say it, really he hadn't, but it had come out anyway.   
  
Edward watched as Spike's whole body slumped, face softening, as he leaned against the rail. He looked like a completely different person, with the mask of indifference gone, and he nodded slowly, eyes on the moon. "Yeah, mate. I suppose I do."   
  
"Did you love her?"   
  
The vampire straightened immediately at the question. With the mask back in place, he turned and looked Edward in the eye.   
  
"No, I didn't love her. She wished I had...and sometimes.... I did too."   
  
A flash of regret flickered briefly through his eyes, before it was pushed aside as he pictured her with legs, long and defined by taut muscle, wrapped around his slim waist. Her hair, a rich auburn, rolling over her freckled shoulders like an erotic waterfall and her eyes, a slanted grey, lowered mischievously. He remembered her skin had been pale like his, when her limbs, thick and creamy, had been splayed underneath him as he pounded her into his mattress night after night.   
  
A pure masculine grin pulled at his lips as he said, "She was amazing in bed though. A wild one she was." At Edward's look, Spike sobered up and said in a gentler voice," But no, mate. I didn't love the chit. 'Sides, I'm a vampire."   
  
"Right. Vampires can't love."   
  
Spike eyed Edward carefully, trying to decipher whether that last comment was said as a statement or a question. Finally, pressing his lips into a thin line, he nodded and edged forward to rest against the rail again. "Right."   
  
"But you loved once--twice actually. Why not again?"   
  
His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together and his shoulders tightened, eyes glittering a hard blue.   
  
"Yeah, well that was a long time ago," he said in an unemotional voice, even as his mind began to conjure up a hazy vision of a woman with hair of gold. If he reached a bit further into a corner of his brain, where memories resided, he'd remember that the color was richer than the sun and the texture softer than anything that had ever been created. As the memory pulled him deeper in to this unexplainable bliss, a razor-sharp emotion hurdled towards him, one he hadn't felt in such a long time, and it yanked him swiftly back out.   
  
Slowly, with unblinking eyes, he took a deep breath and swiftly changed the topic. "So where am I headed to, mate?"   
  
Edward, watching the play of emotions cross the vampire's face, precariously shifted his voice to a more cheerful tone. " Well, pack your bags for a nice...watery trip, mon ami. You're headed to the city."   
  
"New York?" Spike questioned, surprised.   
  
"The one and only."   
  
"Hmm... interesting." He lit up another fag and took a contemplating drag before continuing his train of thought, "We haven't had an American in the past...seventy-five years at least. S'pose I'll have to teach her french now, won't I?"   
  
Edward smiled, "Yes, I'm sure you will and I hope she will have better luck with it than I. Her name is Anna-Elizabeth Montgomery and I've been told she has quite a painful right hook. She has been known to be called either Anna or Liz, so I assume she'll let you know what to call her when you meet and explain everything to her. I've seen her picture and let me tell you, she's quite the looker. Classic American female of course."   
  
"Well, I don't fancy blondes that much." Spike said off handedly and stepped back, heading into the living room. Grabbing a bottle of bourbon, still his favorite drink, off the glass coffee table, he turned around to find Edward had followed him inside. He a took a healthy swig of liquor before putting his professional face back on, "That all the council business then?"   
  
Edward nodded and took a long, measured, look at his host as he prepared his goodbye.   
  
"Yes, that's all the council business I've come to discuss with you. I'll be heading back to London now. Have a nice trip. Don't think you'd fancy buying me one of those cheap apple key chains, now would you?" At Spike's half-smiled nod, he headed for the doors, but stopped mid-way and turned back. Placing a friendly hand on Spike's shoulder, he squeezed compassionately.   
  
"You'll never forget her, William. So stop trying." And then Edward left Spike alone with his thoughts and memories; the mahogany doors swinging shut behind him like a punch in the stomach.   
  
He let out a shaky breath, a breath that reminded him of just how much he'd been humanized, and stalked to his bedroom with the bourbon clenched tightly in his fist. He growled, who did that bastard think he was? Telling him what he thought and felt, when he had not a damn clue. How could he? He wasn't Spike, William-the-fricken-bloody, so how could he possibly know anything?   
  
The door to his bedroom opened with a vicious shove of his hand as he prowled into his domain. This was a place that always brought him comfort, brought him serenity, and when he was with a woman, brought him pleasure. He felt none of those sensations at the moment.   
  
The room had been done in blue and silver, with candles and mirrors and crystals. Mirrors had been something he despised, until a witch he met in Indonesia taught him a spell that caused them to reflect a vampire's reflection. So he had put mirrors everywhere. He went a bit mirror happy as Buffy would of--no, he didn't want to go there. So instead, he fixed his gaze elsewhere.   
  
There were thick midnight blue curtains, draped across a wide silver paned window at the eastside of his room. They brushed against the pale, gleaming, wooden floors. Monique used to say they were the color of his eyes and that brought a slight smile to his face.   
  
He knew he'd miss her.   
  
She had been spunky, with cat-like grey eyes that liked to laugh at his sarcasm after they were sated and limply tangled with each other. He, now, should of remembered her auburn hair, so rich and vibrant, running through his fingers like soil as they laid across the luxurious material of his bedspread and talked about mundane things, but instead his mind summoned up someone entirely different.   
  
A petite body, replaced Monique's curvy frame, with slim arms and legs, dainty looking hands and dark maroon nail polish, and smooth skin the color of caramel. Instead of auburn, he remembered blonde, glistening and long, shifting over his fingers like he had caught a sunbeam in his grasp.   
  
He remembered the smell of sunshine, flowers, and dark earth mixed with a lingering smell of some cheap body spray. He remembered sarcastic comments and heated words and anger and lust and hate swimming in a sea of green. Oh, the green. It had surrounded him, engulfed him, enchanted him, provoked him, trapped him, and freed him all at the same time. She had the most beautiful eyes, a window to her soul, to her feelings. He supposed he'd fallen in love with her eyes first, before he had fallen in love with the rest of her. That thought struck a painful chord in his heart, brought out emotions he couldn't even name, for it had been ages since he had felt them. And the onslaught of them felt like a bloody knife, jagged and rusted, twisting fervidly without mercy deep in his gut.   
  
"Oh, bloody hell."   
  
Spike tipped the bottle of bourbon back, guzzling the burning liquor, loving the path of fire it lit down his throat and he sat down stiffly at the edge of his bed. He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Then widened his eyes, delighted with the way the world suddenly seemed to spin.   
  
Maybe Edward, the git, was right and Spike would never forget her, forget her essence, her radiance, her laugh, and her smile. He took another, extremely unhealthy, gulp of bourbon and thought to himself that it didn't matter if he'd forget her or not, it wouldn't stop him from trying. 


	3. Chapter Two: Anna Elizabeth

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It's All Coming Back To Me Now

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Chapter Two: Anna Elizabeth

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There were days when the sun was so cruel

That all the tears turned to dust

And I knew that my eyes

Were drying up forever

~Celine Dion

**__**

New York City, 2305

It was a cool night in New York. The wind blew off the Atlantic mildly and had the nineteen year old rubbing her bare arms expeditiously. Now she wished she had brought her fleece, the pale pink one that Cooper had pushed into her arms as he gave her a quick kiss on her way out of the apartment they shared. But instead, she had declined, laughing into his mouth and telling him to not be silly; it would be warm tonight.

Anna Elizabeth Montgomery stood outside the gym on the corner or 23rd and 5th. Her feet, small and adorned in a worn-in pair of sneakers, tapped impatiently against the wooden sidewalk. She had never been a patient person, and the fact that it seemed like every taxi-boat had disappeared off the face of the earth and the temperature was nearing forty wasn't exactly helping. The streets were eerily empty too, a few people rounded the corner on 6th, but that was it and she was glad for the solitude. 

A breeze, brisk and cold, blew in from the eastside, tangling its fingers in her hair and tugging pieces loose from her ponytail. They flickered like gold underneath the street light. She stared at her reflection in the murky water below, cocked her hip to the side, as she wondered where her taxi-boat was. 

The three weekly workouts at the gym were finally paying off she thought, as she twisted her body around and watched as her toned muscles shifted beneath her golden skin. She was proud of the arms she'd been sporting lately, for she had always been petite and bone thin. She had to admit that when she first arrived here at sixteen, she had been pretty wimpy looking. 

It was Cooper who had first suggested she start working out because one; she was too skinny, and two; he wanted to make sure she knew how to handle herself in the city, and three; he just plain worried.

She glanced at her wrist, where a band of silver was secured, and sighed, "Computer, time?"

"_Hello, Anna. It is ten-twenty-six. PM. Eastern time._"

"Thank you, Evie. That is all."

"_Okay. Shutting down._"

Anna blew out a long sigh, pulling out her ponytail, as she saw the yellow boat heading its way towards her and said, "Finally. I thought I'd be waiting here all night."

She frowned as it neared. It looked like there were a few other people already occupying it, but it stopped alongside of her anyway. She raised a dark, honeyed, eyebrow at the driver and asked, "Can I get on?"

"Oui, Madamoiselle." 

"You speak French?" She questioned, stepping off the sidewalk and into the taxi-boat.

"Oui." The driver answered. His face was cast in the shadows and she could barely make out his profile. She took notice of his broad shoulders and dark hair, curling a bit past his ears. He didn't look like a normal taxi-boat driver.

"Oh...do you speak any English?"

But she never got to hear the answer, because a cloth-covered hand covered her mouth and nose as a strong arm wrapped around her waist. She struggled for a bit, kicked her legs and swung out with her arms, but she couldn't breathe and soon the blackness swallowed her whole.

Her last thoughts were; I'm going to die.

~

When Anna slowly came to, her eyes opened to find only darkness as two pairs of arms hauled her up to her feet. Her head was groggy, her skin cold, and she had no idea where she was, nor could she find out, because all she saw was blackness. A thick, smoky, blackness that pressing into her on all sides. She would have thought she was floating, somewhere in space, if it hadn't been for the fact that large, wide, hands held her captive, binding her to reality.

"Where are we? Who are you? Let me go. Please, let me go." She demanded weakly and tried to break free, but she was so cold that her body, betraying her, sent shivers down its spine. "Please, please, let me go." 

"Chéri, je suis désolé. Êtes-vous froid ? Nous n'avons pas voulu vous assommer, mais nous vous avons été dit que pourrait nous combattre. Shhh, ne sont pas effrayés. Il est correct. Venez avec nous. Il tout sera expliqué." The voice was gentle, soothing, and she recognized it as the driver's.

"I...I don't understand."

"Louis said he's sorry and asked if you're cold. We didn't want to knock you out, but we were told you might fight us. Don't be frightened. It's okay. Come with us and it will all be explained." Supplied another voice, thick with an accent she couldn't decipher, and their hands became softer on her arms. They had held her so tight before, she assumed there would be bruises later.

"Who are you?"

"We're almost there. Can you walk by yourself now?"

"Who are you?" She asked again, and jerked away from their grasp. "And yes I can walk by myself."

She heard two masculine laughs, followed by the release of her arms. 

"My name is Sasha." He grabbed her wrist, but she yanked her arm to the side. He sighed and grabbed it again. "I don't want you to fall, Anna."

"How do you know my name?" But she relented, body relaxing. "Where are we?"

"Warehouse on the out skirts of the city. Spike doesn't like to travel far from a teleport."

"Who's Spike?" She caught sight of a tower of boxes stacked to her left, and realized they must have just entered the warehouse. She saw an outline of stairs heading up, curving around the clutter of storage, to stop at a room above. A splash of light could be seen from underneath the door, and she turned to her two captors.

"He's-" 

"Il est en haut. Vous voulez que je l'apporte lui ou vous?" _{He's upstairs. Do you want me to bring her up or do you?}_

"Non, je l'apporterai vers le haut. Détendez et prenez un petit somme. Nous avons une longue journée en avant de nous." _{No, I'll bring her up. Relax and take a nap. We have a long day ahead of us.}_

Anna looked between the two men, who towered above her mere five-three, and frowned. She really wished she had taken French instead of Spanish. The only word she picked up on was 'petite' and she hoped they weren't referring to her, because to her petite sounded so dainty and she sure as hell wasn't dainty. 

She scowled as Sasha took her by the hand again and began to lead her upstairs, not noticing her sour expression. She wondered why she wasn't running; wasn't fighting; wasn't trying to escape at all. She was curious; she had been a curious child and now she was a curious adult. But hadn't her mother always said, "Curiosity killed the cat?"

Well she wasn't a cat, now was she? Squaring her shoulders, she stopped at the top landing and tipping her jaw upwards, defiantly stared him down. "What were you guys talking about? And who's Spike?" 

Her tone and the feel of her sharp gaze, stopped Sasha and he turned around to face her, dropping her hand. Anna, in the glow of the dusty lamps that lined the ceiling, finally got a good look at him and was surprised to find he appeared no older than she did. He could be twenty-two at the most, she mused. "How old are you?"

His aquamarine eyes narrowed, mood darkening, as he regarded her for a moment and then said, "You know, you ask too many questions." 

"Well maybe if you'd answer a few of them, I wouldn't have--"

"I told you it will all be explained soon. Now come along." He told her slowly, like he was talking to a small child, which only infuriated her more. Her eyes flashed emerald.

"No."

"Don't be like that. Come on now." He reached for her hand again, but she pulled it away.

"No."

"God dammit, Monique was never as stubborn as you. I said come on." When she only gave him a cool look, his temper flared and he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her the last few feet to the door. He kicked it open and flung her inside, where she landed hard on her knees.

"You bastard--" She began, tossing her hair out of her eyes as she pulled herself up off the ground, but Sasha cut her off.

"Spike, J'ai votre tueur." {Spike, I've got your slayer.}

"Ah, le bon travail. Vous a-t-elle combattu?" {Ah, good job. Did she fight you?} Came a voice from behind, and Anna spun on the balls of her feet swiftly, like a prized fighter. Ready to take on anything. She found a man standing, a few feet away, with his back to them as he poured himself a glass of brandy. His bleached hair brightly contrasted against his morbid sense of style, and smoke curled around him almost mysteriously.

"So you're Spike." Anna said, lips pursing together in a thin, angry line. "And dammit, would you all stop speaking French?! English. English, please."

"You're a feisty one now, aren't you pet?" His tone was amused, and she could just picture a smirk on the face that she had yet to see. She watched as a pale hand set down the elegant glass, looking totally out of place in its dusty surroundings, and he slowly turned around.

Anna raised her chin and met mirth-filled blue eyes. The color something she had seen before, somewhere, on someone, but could not seem to place. "I don't see what's so amusing."

But his eyes weren't laughing at her any longer. She watched as they widened, color darkening, if that was even possible, and then he was crossing the room in three quick, sudden steps. Hands reaching out for her and eyes darting across her face, drinking her in. His fingers skimmed across her cheek and when she jerked back, she saw a flash of hurt in that sea of blue. His mouth was open, like he was gasping for air, only she hadn't seen his chest rise at all, not once since she stepped through the door. And finally he spoke, voice soft and low and gentle. A tone she had never heard before, not even with Cooper.

"Buffy? Love? That you?"


	4. Chapter Three: Twenty Questions and Then...

It's All Coming Back To Me Now  
  
Chapter Three: Twenty Questions and Then Some  
  
I finished crying in the instant that you left And I can't remember where or when or how And I banished every memory that you and I had ever made ~Celine Dion  
  
If his heart could beat, it would have. Rapidly and rhythmically, thudding in his chest like a tribal drum, as each second passed by with only her blank stare. It couldn't be her, could it? Though her eyes seemed greener, fuller, lusher, they were just as exotic as he remembered. No more, no less. Her nose was still straight and upturned at the tip, small and dignified, and he remembered times when he had wanted to nuzzle it with his own, tangled within her slender limbs. Her lips were the same, flushed pink and full, and the aged-long desire to kiss her overwhelmed him. But when he reached for her again, she set her lips into a frown and took a step back, and he didn't understand why...didn't she remember?  
  
"Anna." She said finally, after a long moment of silence, with stark honesty in her voice. His eyes, once a ripe midnight, had narrowed slightly and shifted slowly to an indifferent blue. Somehow, that look chilled her heart and, fighting back the confusion, she managed her voice to come out clear and smooth. "My name is Anna Montgomery...who's Buffy?"  
  
"She's--" his true love? His Slayer? His soul? His inspiration? His lover? He laughed at that, hard and cruel, his whole demeanor changing before her very eyes. He waved a hand around carelessly, with a flick of his wrist and said with a cool, detached voice, "No one. She was no one."  
  
"But--" She began, stopping when he locked his steady gaze with her own.  
  
"But nothing, pet. Thought you where some other bird I used to know, but you're not." Spike smirked lightly, eyes glittering like shards of glass. "Obviously. Anyway, bet you're wonderin' why you're here..." he trailed off, noticing two identical marks on her neck. They were right above the hollow of her shoulder, where the flesh was paler, ghostly and smooth along the delicate column of her throat.  
  
"Where'd you get that?" He asked softly and touched her again, just the barest of touches, but left her skin tingling under the path he drew with his finger.  
  
"Um...oh! This? A birthmark." Anna smiled suddenly, as a memory swept over her, and she let herself laugh. "Ugly, isn't it? My little sister always told me it looked like I got bit from a vampire...which is silly of course, because I've never seen--"  
  
Spike jerked back, like she had burned him. And in a sense, she had. Jagged and deep. He abruptly pivoted, black leather billowing, and faced Sasha, who held a look of curiosity and utter amusement from the wide range of emotions he saw on Spike's face.  
  
"Explain the slayer her job, what she's expected to learn and how she's expected to act. I'll be back by sunrise. I s'pect you all to be ready to leave by then."  
  
They watched Spike stalk out of the room, shoulders tense and face rigid. One bewildered at his sudden exit, and the other trying to come to a rational conclusion as to what she thought she'd just heard.  
  
Finally, with wide hazel eyes, Anna looked to Sasha and asked weakly. "I'm a slayer?"  
  
At his nod of confirmation, she let out a small, helpless, sound. "Oh god. I think I need to sit down."  
  
Sasha grabbed her arm, leading her to a chair as he talked softly to her. "It's okay. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Don't hyperventilate on me, Anna." He rubbed soothing circles into her back, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. "Thatta girl, nice and easy. See, just like that."  
  
She heard the smile in his voice, but that only caused the distress to rise in the back of her throat. "This is a joke. Right? Big ol' joke on little ol' me. Right? Joke. As in ha...ha..." At his pensive expression, she rushed on, "No? No, you aren't joking? Are you?"  
  
She clung to a last thread of hope, where a part of her wished that this was all just a terrible and very wrong dream. She had heard of the slayer, only through textbooks and late night broadcasts over the telelite of course, but none-the-less she had heard of her. A chosen one. A girl with a destiny. But didn't everyone have a destiny? Yes, she supposed they did, but she never imagined her destiny to be...well this. A slayer.  
  
"No." Was all he offered. "You are the chosen one."  
  
"Why me? I don't understand. Was I just randomly chosen? Like 'Ooh, look at her. She looks like good slayery material. We'll choose her.' I mean, who chooses anyway?" Anna queried, casting her thin arms in the air in a helpless gesture.  
  
"The Powers choose the slayer. Your path was set in motion before your birth. It is your destiny. You don't look like a girl who would question destiny...nor run from it. Are you? Maybe I'm wrong."  
  
She had no reply to that. She, in fact, was a very spiritual person, as were her parents and sister. She believed in destiny and greater entities and heaven and hell. She believed in it all. You can't run from destiny a tiny voice inside chided. And she knew that.  
  
Guess that decides that, she thought grimly. God, what was she getting herself into?  
  
"So," Anna said, squaring her shoulders, after a long, tense moment of silence. She placed her lips into a tight smile, and said in her most cheerful voice possible, "I kill vampires?"  
  
Sasha beamed, a silent gesture of approval. Then, turning serious, he answered her question.  
  
"Yes, and various kinds of other demons. It all depends on 'le grand mauvais' of the week. The Hellmouth is a demon's dream place to rule, as well as the only place where one can attempt to pull off an apocalypse or two. Constant power struggle. That's where you come in, you know, to keep the balance of good and evil. Expect anything when you're a slayer. Well, like last week, it was witches. Not overly powerful, for the last extremely powerful Wiccan in touch of her black magics died a little over two-hundred- and-fifty years ago, but at that time she was fighting the good fight as she had most of her life. Now, even though these witches were not all that powerful, they still proved to be the death of Monique."  
  
"Was she the last slayer?"  
  
"Yes. She was twenty-four, quite at an old age for a slayer, but it must be taken into account that she was called when she was twenty-one. Lasted three years, quite a long career."  
  
"Is it? What's the longest a slayer's ever lived?"  
  
"Eight years, or maybe it was nine? I believe she was called when she was sixteen? I don't remember. I'm not that great with my history. She was legendary though, often called The Slayer. Don't recall her name, but you'll read up on her. A lot of her techniques were studied while she was alive, and now are taught to slayer after slayer."  
  
"Good...you know...since she lived a long time...and all...hope her techniques will help me out." Anna laughed a bit nervously, fear and uncertainty in her eyes. "Is... is Monique missed? Do people miss her?"  
  
His eyes softened and thought, poor girl...probably scared out of her mind. "Very much so. Her death was hard on all of us. Especially Spike--although I think something else is bothering him as of late. Don't know for sure. He isn't exactly the type to spill his feelings to anyone or anything that'll listen."  
  
"Really? Didn't notice that at all." Her sarcasm was thick, but light- hearted and he laughed.  
  
"I can already tell the gang will love you."  
  
"The gang?" A honeyed brow raised in question, as she decided that Sasha was notably handsome...when he wasn't angry. Overall, now in the full light of the room, he looked like a pretty mellow guy with his boyish sandy mop of curls and light blue eyes, which held none of the intensity or indifference of Spike's, making him, in her opinion, a very likable fellow.  
  
"The gang is sort of your back up. They help with research, battle plans, and sometimes combat when you really need it. The gang is made up of five exceedingly qualified persons. You've already met Louis and I, two of the five, and I gather that you'll meet the other three, all girls mind you, when you arrive in Paris."  
  
"Paris? Wait a second. I'm going to Paris?"  
  
"Yes. The slayer is needed at the Hellmouth and since Paris is the current reigning Hellmouth, you will be stationed there. It's fairly new. It was opened 228 years ago after a slayer had finally managed to close up the Hellmouth for good in Sunnydale, California. That was, of course, before California split and became an island."  
  
"Okay. I understand the slayer has to be by the Hellmouth...but where will I live? With what money will I support myself? I'm just a college student. I can't afford to buy myself an apartment and I have a feeling that a slayer doesn't quite get a salary." Her last words had a bitter twist to them, a complete contradiction to her sweet face with hair, like spun gold, rolling off her shoulders.  
  
"Actually," Sasha explained. "You will get a small salary. A recent development that each girl fought hard for. But you needn't worry about a place to stay. You will live with Spike, as have the past slayers. He'll take good care of you. He's got some money."  
  
She frowned, "Why would I be living with Spike?"  
  
"Because he is your Watcher."  
  
She laughed, "And that is?"  
  
Sasha had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "Sorry, I'm not that good at all this explaining stuff. A watcher is more or less your trainer--your teacher. Spike will be in charge of your physical training as well as mental. He will also accompany you on your nightly patrols. He's an excellent fighter, one of the best. He'll have your back no matter what, just make sure you don't pull a stunt like Monique did, because that could very well cost you your life, as it did for her."  
  
Anna nodded, a bit confused. She could barely contain all this information; it was all being explained so rapidly that it all came across in a blur. She wondered, sarcasm coating her thoughts, if she could possibly ask for a memo. "What exactly did happen to Monique. I mean...I know you said by witches---but?"  
  
Sasha leaned back against the heater that lined the end of the room, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants with a slight tilt of the head. He pressed his lips together and only then did it occurred to Anna that this may be hard to speak of, but before she got a chance to say that he answered her.  
  
"They were called the Three--all sisters--and they were after, like most supernatural things, taking over the Hellmouth. As I told you, they weren't remarkably powerful, but they were giving us a pretty hard time for a month or so by sicing a variety of demons on, making sure to keep the slayer busy. She beat them all, every single one of them. She was quite a talented fighter, not always creative, but strong. Monique was confident too, perhaps a bit over confidant, which sadly was her downfall. She told Spike that she was going to patrol one of the local cemeteries and that she wished to be alone to think. When in fact, she went after the Three instead." His eyes clouded a bit, a sad smile gracing his wide mouth. "They bound her with a spell, skinned her, and then to kill her they burst her...her head open. Afterwards, they took out her heart and wrapped it in a big red, her favorite color, velveteen box. Bitches topped it off with an elaborate bow and sent it off to Spike."  
  
"How disgusting and... and..." With horrified eyes, Anna began to reach out for Sasha as if to comfort him, but then decided better of it and covered her mouth instead. "What did he do?"  
  
"Spike?" Sasha chuckled then, a sound that oddly reminded her of Cooper. "Killed them o' course. Snapped their necks. They didn't even see it coming. If someone Spike cares for has been wronged in any way, he is the complete definition of brutality. I would never want to be on the receiving end of his wrath."  
  
"We're they in love?" She asked suddenly.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Spike and the slayer."  
  
"Monique?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh." Sasha's brow furrowed and he bit his lip comtemplatingly. "No... not in love. Well actually, I think she was, but I know he wasn't. They were lovers in the ultimate physical sense, but never in the emotional. I don't suppose Spike will let himself love anything now a days."  
  
"That is so awful...to be in love, but not be loved in return."  
  
"I know," his voice hardened in a bitter tone before smoothing out once again. It made her wonder if he had been the one in love with Monique instead. "But don't get me wrong. He cared for her, more for her than I imagine he has for anyone in a long time. He just doesn't love."  
  
"Why not? Rough childhood? Bad parents?"  
  
Amusement lit his eyes and he shook his head. "No."  
  
"Oh...oh! Was it because he was her watcher? Is it like forbidden or something?"  
  
Chuckling he grinned down at her, "You are way too interested in this relationship stuff. Any particular reason?"  
  
She locked dreamy eyes with his and said with a tint of embarrassment, "I've been called a hopeless romantic...and I plead guilty as charged. I mean...forbidden love always has me..." She sighed, pointing towards herself with a silly grin. "Basically it makes me the equivalent of a big melty pile of goo."  
  
He smiled, not a shell of a smile or a business like smile, but a real honest to god smile and she decided that she liked that smile. So she smiled back, pink mouth curving sweetly. "Its forbidden love, isn't it?"  
  
When he saw the childish excitement in her eyes, vibrant and full of life, he decided that he liked this slayer much better than any of the other two he had known. Ready to indulge her, he gathered his thoughts, remembering a story from his childhood that he never had the nerves to confirm, but believed wholly to be true.  
  
"There was a forbidden love concerning Spike...I guess you could say."  
  
Her eyes lit up. "With Monique?"  
  
"No." Sasha shook his head. "With another Slayer...the legendary Slayer."  
  
"But..." Anna's brow knit in confusion. "I thought she died a long time ago?"  
  
"She did. But so did he."  
  
"He--what?" Now she was lost.  
  
"Spike's at least a good four hundred and fifty years old, darling."  
  
"How--how is that possible?"  
  
"Vampire."  
  
"Vampire?" she asked, mouth opening in surprise. "Don't I kill vampires?"  
  
"Yes, yes you do, but Spike's special. He has a soul."  
  
"Oh...is that a good thing?"  
  
"Yes. Vampires don't have souls and that is what allows them to kill without feeling remorse or guilt for their actions. Does that make sense?" Anna nodded wearily and Sasha stood upright and offered an understanding hand towards her. "You look tired, darling. How about you get some rest? Sunrise won't be in another three hours and you'll need all your strength, it's bound to be a long day tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah...I just have so many questions."  
  
"That's understandable, Anna. But right now I think it'd be best if you slept off your shock."  
  
"Shock? What shock? Why would I have any reason to be in shock?"  
  
"There's that sarcasm that I'm sure to fall in love with in the very near future." Sasha grinned, as he lead her through a small doorway on the left where a musty, old, couch, worn in and brown, sat in a darkened corner. "Sorry, this is the best we could find."  
  
"It's okay." She mumbled, stifling a yawn. She hadn't realized how tired she was, until sleep had been mentioned. "I'll deal. I always do."  
  
"Right." He grabbed a blanket from a dust-covered chest and settled it around her, where she had sprawled out on the couch. "Goodnight then."  
  
"You never told me about Spike's forbidden love, Sasha." She said, grabbing his wrist with imploring eyes. "Tell me now. Please?"  
  
He shook his head, with the kindest of smiles. "Ask me after you've settled in, Anna. Then I will tell you."  
  
"But--"  
  
"After you've settled. I promise. Goodnight, Slayer."  
  
"I---" Anna began to protest, but then thought better of it as she watched Sasha cross the room and begin to shut the door behind him. So with a little sigh, like a child who has not gotten his way, she said softly, "Goodnight, Sasha. Thank you."  
  
"My pleasure."  
  
Those words and the soft click of a metal door, followed by heavy silence were the last things Anna heard before sleep finally overcame her jumbled mind. 


	5. Chapter Four: A Slayer and Two Vamps

It's All Coming Back To Me Now  
  
Chapter Four: A Slayer and Two Vamps  
  
But when you touch me like this And you hold me like that I just have to admit That it's all coming back to me ~Celine Dion  
  
It was ten minutes before sunrise when Spike finally wandered back to the warehouse with the heavy scent of liquor on his breath and a smoldering cigarette dangling from his lips. He nodded toward Louis and Sasha, who were huddled on top of a few milk crates with a thin yellow blanket tossed across their legs. It was dirty, ripped and tattered.  
  
So familiar, yet so foreign.  
  
But still, the sight of the yellow and worn out cotton had a bitter wave of nostalgia coursing through him. And if he closed his eyes, for just a moment, he could see the bright pavement beneath him, smell his simmering flesh, and remember the feeling he had knowing that she would be a few feet away. Just behind the back door, with her hair tossed over her shoulder, spine straight and steel-green eyes sharp with anger, glaring at him. Only, he knew they softened...softened for him, when she had been naked and pressed firmly against him, hips bucking up to meet his--  
  
"Monsieur, êtes-vous bien?" [Sir, are you okay?]  
  
"Hmm?" Spike focused on Louis' questioning look and tossed his fag to the ground. "Oh...ah oui, Louis. Je suis très bien. Où est le Tueur?" [Yes, Louis. I'm fine. Where is the Slayer?]  
  
"She's still sleeping in the back room, Spike. Would you like me to-"  
  
"Non, Sasha. Je la réveillerai. Oui?" [No, Sasha. I will wake her. Yes?]  
  
"D'accord."  
  
Spike nodded, and climbed the stairs. He could smell the sun and knew it would be up soon, only it didn't frighten him. It hadn't for almost over a hundred years. Absently, he pulled out a silver chain, from under his shirt, where a slender ring was held and rubbed it between his fingers. The Gem of Amara...or rather half of it. The other half hung around the neck of his grandsire and the irony of it all had not escaped him.  
  
It tore him between being mildly amused and mildly annoyed.  
  
Frowning, he opened the small door off of the office and peered in at the new slayer. There was no denying it...was there? She looked exactly like her, right down to the bronzed freckle on her delicate collarbone.  
  
Spike believed in reincarnation. But it was something he feared to hope, because the Powers tended to enjoy putting him through misery...and he didn't want that. Didn't want the misery, the heartache, the sadness that hope would bring; that this girl would bring.  
  
Oh, but he longed to touch her. To hold her, stroke her, and kiss those sweet dimples; to pretend, even for a moment, that she was who she resembled and that she was his again. Forever. But as he moved to enter, she bolted up right, eyes wild and an arm raised above her, hand clenched as if she held a stake.  
  
"Who's there?" Her voice wavered and he heard her heart hammering in her ribcage like a trapped butterfly. Her arm raised even higher, bent back at a slim, golden elbow.  
  
Spike wondered if she did that subconsciously and pushed the door wider as a sudden thought came to him. He stepped through the doorway, so she could see him fully and then flicked a switch on. Light flooded the room from above and he smiled, cheeks dipping inwards.  
  
"'Ello, pet."  
  
"Spike." Anna breathed out, eyes meeting his. A startling green as she lowered her arm and sighed. "You scared me."  
  
"Gathered that much, love."  
  
Then she shot him a look of mild irritation and he could have sworn he saw something flash behind her eyes, something familiar and old. And that casual thought he had moments ago came crashing back to him, slapping him across the face. He looked at her, contemplating.  
  
"Did Sasha explain everything to you?"  
  
"The basics. I think he left the more complicated things to you," she said, placing her feet on the concrete floor. She tilted her head to the side and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Are we going to Paris now?"  
  
"That's the--" He stopped and the look she gave him had a lump beginning to form at the back of his throat, mind scrambling to come to a decision.  
  
"Well?" Anna's brow raised, long and slender and the color of honey.  
  
But instead of answering, he turned his back to her and strolled out of the small room. In the office, he picked up a lone pack of cigarettes off the heater and pulled one out, lighting up as he gazed out a dirty, cracked, window.  
  
Anna, feeling a sense of deja vu, scrambled to her feet and followed after him. He looked back at her, with sunshine framing his face that created a glow around his slicked back bleached hair. Her brow furrowed, something was wrong.  
  
"We are going to Paris, aren't we?"  
  
He managed a sad smile and she noticed the blue of his veins underneath his almost transparent skin. Smoke twisted sinuously through the air and she thought he looked like an Angel of Death; a very glorious, resplendent, pernicious, Angel.  
  
"We're going to Paris. Just a change of plans, pet." He answered after a deep drag of his cigarette. "We're going to take a little side trip before we head to Paris. My boys will make sure your stuff gets to the château safely."  
  
"Where are we going?" Anna treaded, almost carefully, over to him and inclined her head back to gaze up at him. He was tall and had a good seven or eight inches on her. He was not as tall as Cooper, but anyone compared to Cooper was small.  
  
"Los Angeles." He studied her a moment and then turned away, sauntering back into the shadows. It was only then that she realized what had been wrong. Darting after him, she caught him by the arm at the top of the stairs.  
  
"You're a vampire."  
  
Spike merely glanced coolly back at her and pulled his arm from her grasp. "Point, slayer?"  
  
"The sun. You were in the sun. How?"  
  
"I see Sasha told you all 'bout me. Fancy that." Amused at her interest, he grinned and his mouth curved upwards. It was a look, she imagined, he had been born with from the ease it slid into place. "Magic, love."  
  
"What kind of magic? I find it fascinating that--" She stopped and noticed that Spike was no longer there. Instead, only the lingering smell of whiskey, smoke, and leather perfumed the air. A smell, which oddly enough, she found caused her to feel comforted, protected, loved and annoyed all at the same time.  
  
Puzzled, Anna could only shake these thoughts and follow Spike downstairs.  
  
~  
  
Los Angeles was a gorgeous city, colorful and warm with the underlying scent of the Pacific. One could hear the sound miles away, of waves crashing against the shoreline, pulsing against the sandy edges of California. That pulse flowed into this golden city, bringing vivacious life to everything within.  
  
And she was entranced as soon as she and Spike stepped out of the teleport station and into a sea of people. They were all headed out for some carefree fun this Sunday afternoon, either to the beach or Rodeo Drive for some shopping.  
  
These people were so different from the population of New York, where everything was rushed and stuffed into time slots. Professionalism was the key to success there. Here, everything seemed slower, almost like the south, where Anna had only visited once when she had been just a small child.  
  
She wanted to go shopping and explore LA like a toddler explores his sandbox. But Spike wasn't here for fun. He was here for business or something equally as important, that he had yet to explain, and he definently did not look in the mood to show her around. So she stayed quiet and didn't protest as she followed him down the crowded streets. They walked side by side and the silence stretched for blocks, until she just couldn't take it any longer.  
  
"Can't we go shopping, Spike?" Anna glanced at all the clothing stores they were passing and counted the numerous women coming out of those said stores with bags upon bags. Her fingers itched to spend the wad of bills tucked snuggly in her front left pocket as she gazed longingly at a mannequin dressed in a sheer black top and tight-fitting leather.  
  
"No." Spike's tone was firm as he turned down a street, jaw clenched. There were more prominent buildings here, caressing the sky, and Anna was instantly reminded of home. But the wave of homesickness dissipated just as quickly as it had come, when she reminded herself of the situation at hand.  
  
"Why not?" Anna pouted and slowed her pace, her sweet mouth turning sour. She crossed her arms in front of her. "Please?"  
  
He growled, tempers flaring, and stopped walking, causing Anna to slam roughly into his back without a bit of elegance. "Slayer, if you'd shut your bloody mouth, maybe I could think about it."  
  
Her temper flared up to meet his and she huffed out with a tiny sneer, "Fine."  
  
They began walking again, brisk and silent. They moved together, their bodies so intune to one another yet neither realized how each step mirrored the other's movements. Ten minutes later, after they had turned down a darkened alleyway, where the sun barely peaked down the narrow brick walls, did she finally speak again.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
There was a lengthy pause, the flick of a wrist and a soft sound of a empty cigarette filter hitting the pavement.  
  
"To visit an old mate of mine."  
  
Spike walked ahead of Anna, looking around until he spotted a rusted metal door. Shoving his shoulder against it, the door opened loudly and slammed into the inner wall on the other side. Anna wrinkled her nose, peering in at the dusty basement.  
  
"You're friend lives here?"  
  
"No." His tone was hard, and he paused for a moment, sighing. The girl didn't deserve his hostility. No matter what the circumstances were. He looked back at her, and when he spoke his voice was softer, kinder. "Well...yeah. Just taking the back entrance, pet. This part's a bit shabby."  
  
She nodded, surprised at his change of demeanor. "Okay."  
  
They made their way through the basement, angry silence replaced by a mutual understanding. There were a set of stairs at the back corner of the room, and half way up it, he turned back to look at her.  
  
"Stay behind me."  
  
They resumed their way up the stairs. There was a wood door, at the top, and it opened easily with just a small push of Spike's hand. On the second floor, Anna found what looked like a living room, with plush sofa's and a glass coffee table made for more the eye's appreciation than any practical use. The walls were painted a soft rose, speckled in white, and gold-lined photographs hung around the room. On the left wall, there was a wide table and behind that was a small kitchenette filled with gleaming appliances all done in blue marble. She smelled jasmine, and noticed big white lilies in a rounded vase of creamy peach, perched on an iron side table to her right.  
  
Spike stepped into the center of the room. With his hands shoved deep in his black slacks, he cocked his head to the side just as a woman came in from the hallway between the kitchen and the right wall.  
  
She was beautiful: with dark hair curling over narrow shoulders, olive- colored skin, and a face touched up lightly with mascara and lip gloss. She wore a long silk dress, swirling colors of blue and violet, that showed off sculpted legs that ended in a pair of simple black stiletto heels.  
  
Anna watched as she smiled, brown eyes dancing, when she saw Spike and her long arms opened for a hug, which he gave to her unquestioningly.  
  
"Rachelle, love. How have you been?"  
  
She laughed, a warm, tinkling sound as her lips grazed his cheek lovingly. "Uncle Spike! It's so good to see you."  
  
"Looks like you've been good." He noted, picking up a tanned hand where on one slim finger was small, but gorgeous diamond ring.  
  
She blushed, a light dusting of color to her cheeks, but her smile was blinding when she said, "I'm engaged. Just happened less than a week ago. I was going to teleport to Paris and tell you myself...but I guess you beat me to it."  
  
"Give you my most heart felt cheers. You deserve it, kitten." Spike pulled away, looked her up and down and touched her hair softly. He grinned, full of fatherly pride. "You look just like Cordy, know that precious?"  
  
She smiled again and stepped back, looking him in the eye. "Angel tells me that everyday."  
  
"Ah yes, where is Peaches?" He questioned, glancing down the hall. "I've got some business to discuss with him and uh...got a new slayer I want him to meet."  
  
At Spike's quick glance in Anna's direction, Rachelle finally realized there was another woman--girl was more like it--in the room. Being twenty- seven herself, she guessed the girl looked to be no older than nineteen.  
  
"Hi, I'm Rachelle Chase." She stepped forward, heels resounding elegantly off the gleaming wood floors, and offered her hand to Anna. She grinned, a pretty curve of her maroon-colored lips, as Anna returned a polite smile and took her hand.  
  
It was only then that Rachelle's smile paled and her dark brown eyes widened in shock. "She...Spike...how is that...is she?"  
  
"My name is Anna Montgomery." Anna said uncomfortably. She felt so out of place having only met Spike just about twelve hours ago when this woman clearly had known him her whole life.  
  
"From? Did you come from Sunnydale? Maybe--"  
  
"No." He said firmly before Anna could answer. The pained look was back in his eyes and he glanced towards the floor. "There's no maybes. She's from New York, love."  
  
"Oh. So she's not..." She leaned in and whispered softly, hands reaching out to grip his tightly with hers.  
  
He shook his head and pulled his hands from her grasp.  
  
"Oh. But she looks..."  
  
"I know. Part of the bloody reason I'm even in this buggered city anyway." He muttered, turning away from her.  
  
Rachelle rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks. Feeling the love now."  
  
"Don't piss me off, pet. Not in the mood to play."  
  
"When are you ever?" At Spike's 'don't push me' look, Rachelle relented. " Nevermind. Don't answer that. I'll go get Angel."  
  
She sighed and looked to Anna and said quietly as she moved past her towards the hall, "He's got more pissy mood swings then we do."  
  
Anna managed the start of a laugh, before an icy look from Spike reprimanded her into silence. But she still smiled, eyes dancing.  
  
"Sorry," she apologized, bottom lip held between her teeth.  
  
He rolled his eyes with a scoff, even as his chest restricted painfully at the sight of her, and he said, "Women."  
  
~  
  
Angel stepped out of the shower and made his way across the glossy pine floors of his bedroom to the closet. His dark brown hair was soaked and droplets slid down his chest to disappear into the terry cloth of the green towel that was wrapped around his waist. He frowned, glancing through the rack of tailored suits and black slacks and white button downs.  
  
Not wanting the sophisticated look for today, Angel selected a pale blue sweater and worn-in jeans which satisfied the average-Joe-look he craved. He was still admiring the way the colors set off his dark hair and eyes reflected in the long specialized mirror on the right wall when Rachelle rushed into the closet with a blur of violet and blue.  
  
"Spike's here. He needs to talk to you." Came forth her rushed, but smooth words.  
  
"About what?" Angel asked, already moving out of the closet quickly, headed to the door. "Something serious going on in the Hellmouth?"  
  
"No... He brought along the new slayer." Rachelle said softly, following close behind. "Monique died last week."  
  
"I know. I talked to Sasha Friday afternoon." Angel was already making his way down the hall, but Rachelle's warm hand on his forearm stopped him. He turned and smiled lovingly at her.  
  
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked, taking note of her apprehensive expression.  
  
"The slayer...she looks...she looks like. Well, Angel she really resembles-- "  
  
He laughed and broke her grasp, continuing toward the living room, "Chelle, you remind me of Cordy more and more everyday."  
  
She usually would have smiled, because she loved when anyone referred to her and her great-grandmother to the fourth, but Angel wasn't listening to what she was trying to say.  
  
"No, Angel. Wait." Rachelle ran after him. She didn't want him gaping at Anna, like she was sure Spike had. How was the poor girl to know she looked exactly like the former lover of both vampires? But by the time she got a hold of him again, Angel was already through the doorway with friendly grin.  
  
"Spike, what brings you--Oh...my god." 


	6. Chapter Five: A Little History Lesson

It's all Coming Back To Me Now  
  
Chapter Five: A Little History Lesson  
  
When I touch you like this  
  
And I hold you like that  
  
It's so hard to believe  
  
But it's all coming back to me  
  
~Celine Dion  
  
Angel stood there, mouth open and unbelieving, as he took in the sight of his girl with her gold hair and bright eyes. She looked the same, young and vibrant and wholesome. She wore a pair of thin and patched jeans and a plain white top. Her hair was a wavy mess that fell off her shoulders- -but to him, he couldn't remember seeing anything more beautiful.  
  
"I...oh my god. You're here. How?" He stepped forward, his eyes honest and loving. Then urgently, within a moment's notice, searched her confused face before looking towards his grand-childe's bitter stare.  
  
"Something big going down that they brought her back?" He asked, a worried line creasing his brow for what seemed like an eternity. Then he looked back to his greatest love." God, I've missed you. You must be so confused, Buff--"  
  
"Stop it. All of you. I'm not Buffy...whoever she is. Just...stop." Anna's tone was sharp and final. Her dark hazel eyes became a blazing green, glassy with her frustration and confusion. She looked up at the dark-haired man in front of her, searching his face as well, and found only pure, honest, adoration in his brown gaze. "Who are you? My name is Anna."  
  
"Anna? Anna..." He repeated softly as if in a daze, testing the name on his lips. He frowned; the name did not fit quite like 'Buffy' would have, and the lines of his face deepened. "I'm Angel...and you're not Buffy?"  
  
"Bloody hell she's not. Didn't the chit just tell you she wasn't?" Spike said, just as Rachelle rolled her eyes.  
  
She shot a gentle smile towards her Uncle Spike, knowing he was upset. She could see it in his stance and the way the planes of his face appeared sharper, edgier, and more dangerous. He attempted a half-hearted smile in return, but it only came out as a scowl.  
  
"I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen to me." Rachelle reminded Angel, her voice taking on a superior tone.  
  
"He's just daft, kitten. The poofter always has been."  
  
Angel ignored their comments and took a step towards Anna. He touched her face gently, fingers sweeping up the delicate structure of her cheekbone and murmered,"You look just like her--just like her. Doesn't she, Spike?"  
  
Spike was silent, eyes hard and carefully guarded, as he watched his grand- sire caress Anna's face.  
  
Anna felt as if she was floating. Angel's touch was soothing and gentle, and she pressed her face lightly into his palm. At the contact a shock of energy ran through her body and down his arm. They parted quickly with wild looks on both their faces and Anna's hand came up to rest against her throat as Angel's rested against his chest.  
  
"You're cold...and... Ow." She winced, rubbed her neck as she backed up a few more steps and bumped into the mantle, knocking a large framed picture from its surface. It hit the floor with a crash, glass scattering every which way.  
  
The room became utterly silent as all eyes gazed down at the cracked picture frame. There, smiling up at them all, were the faces of five beautiful women and one grinning man. Slowly, Anna bent down and picked up the picture, eyes sweeping over each face.  
  
Anna was surprised at the sudden and varied pangs of emotion she felt. Love surrounded her, so deep and so honest and all so different. It felt liberating and suffocating all at the same time. Later on, she would remember feeling the sense of home, but then her eyes landed on a face and all previous thoughts fled her mind.  
  
"Me? Oh my god...that's me." She covered her mouth, with emerald eyes capacious in wonder. "That's me. How can that be?"  
  
"S'not you, Pet..."  
  
"But--" Anna protested, shaking the picture in front of Spike. "That IS me."  
  
"No! That is NOT you." Spike grabbed the picture from her grasp, knuckles white against the gold framing. His voice dropped dangerously low and he locked his dark blue gaze on Anna. "That's not you. You could never be her. Never. You aren't Buffy."  
  
"What if she's a reincarnation of..." The predatory growl that escaped Spike caused Rachelle to cease the rest of her statement. She had never seen him like this; so distant and cold.  
  
"No." His voice shook and he pointed a finger toward Anna. She tilted her head to the side; amazed at the raw emotion she saw shimmering in the liquid fire of his eyes. "She's not Buffy. I'd know Buffy, Kitten. My heart," he pressed a rough hand to his chest and his voice wavered slightly, "would know. It would know her anywhere."  
  
"How poetic, William." Angel taunted, in an attempt to lighten the tension that seemed to press down around them from all sides, but his expression remained grave. Spike only scowled. "But we need to look at all the possibilities. Here," he glanced at Anna briefly and then Rachelle. "Let's take this to my office."  
  
"Right then. Let's go." Spike grabbed Rachelle's hand and dropped a kiss onto the back of it tenderly. "Kitten, make the slayer a spot of tea? Bird looks like she needs it." Then he turned to Anna, "This won't take too long. Then we'll be back on schedule and teleporting to Paris."  
  
Anna nodded and watched him and Angel disappear down the hall. She was even more confused than before. All she got out of that conversation was three things. She looked like a girl named Buffy, Spike and Angel had cared for this girl Buffy, and Spike didn't like the fact that she looked exactly like Buffy. "Can I get some explanations?"  
  
"Yes. I'm sorry." Rachelle smiled at Anna, feeling for the girl more than she expected to. "And I apologize for Spike and Angel. They're two of the most important men in my life and I love them more than anything, but I know how they can get. You have to understand...Buffy was the love of both of their unlives. So naturally they tend to get a bit defensive at the mention of...her. She brings out the best and the worst in them, even from the grave."  
  
"I can tell."  
  
"Come on. I'll make you a cup of tea and give you some answers." Rachelle headed to the kitchen; her heels sounding graceful against the blue linoleum tiled floor. Pulling down two cups she set them on the island counter and pivoted, with a natural grace Anna envied, to put her old- fashioned teakettle on a burner. "Oh, take a seat."  
  
Anna did, curling her legs around the posts of a pine stool. She rested her elbows on the counter surface. "Thanks."  
  
"You know, I'm going to miss this place once I'm married." Rachelle said conversationally as she pulled out a few tea packets from a cupboard underneath the stove and tossed them on the counter.  
  
"It's been my home since I was just a baby. Angel has always been in my family. He helped generations upon generations of my family grow up in this world. My mother, Jasmine, was beautiful and smart and a single mother as well. So when she was killed helping Angel bring down this demon nest in a back of an L.A nightclub it was only logical that he take over the responsibility of raising me. So this is really the only home I can recall...and I'll miss it. Almost as much as I'll miss having him around."  
  
Anna smiled, "Do you love him?"  
  
"Romantically?" Rachelle laughed as she took the steaming kettle off the burner and poured water into the mugs. "I love my fiancé, John. With all my heart. But at one time, when I was younger and Angel was the only man I'd ever known, I thought I did. But it's hard to live in a shadow of another woman."  
  
"How so?" Anna took the tea from Rachelle with a grateful smile. She dipped the tea bag in and out rhythmically while her eyes were riveted to the brunette's face.  
  
"Well let me show you. Follow me."  
  
Both women set their tea down and headed back into the living room.  
  
~  
  
"Jesus Christ, I need a drink." Angel said, sinking into the black leather chair behind his desk.  
  
The room was done in sable greens and splashes of maroon. Oak bookcases lined three of the four walls of the office and Spike's stomach took a turn when his mind conjured up a nervous-faced man dressed in tweed. He sunk into a plush green chair in the corner and attempted a scowl, but his face only seemed to look paler if that was even possible for a vampire. The funny thing was, Angel mirrored his expression.  
  
"Bloody hell, me too. Got any bourbon?"  
  
Angel didn't bother to answer. He just pulled out two bottles of the hard liquor from a fancy little cooler underneath his desk and tossed one to his grand-childe. Both vampires popped the top and took a healthy swig of the alcohol.  
  
"Looks just like her. Doesn't she, Peaches?"  
  
"More like identical." Angel agreed.  
  
Spike sighed, propping his feet up on top of Angel's desk. Under difference circumstances the older vampire would have scolded Spike, but today he remained silent. "The bint threw me for a bloody loop when I first saw her." He took a long drink as the memory of his shock folded in around him and he let out a laugh that sounded more like half a sob. "Do you suppose it's just a really outlandish coincidence?"  
  
"Nothing's ever just a coincidence, Spike. Not in this world." ~  
  
"This is Cordelia Chase. My great to the something grandmother." Rachelle opened up a dated photo album and pointed to a beautiful girl.  
  
"Wow." Anna said, gazing at the leggy teenage brunette in the picture. She wore a skimpy red bikini while she was curled around a younger version of the man from the photograph that Anna had dropped earlier. The couple were laughing, even the girl, as she held on to the boy for dear life in a foolish attempt to escape the ocean waves. "You look like her."  
  
"I know." Rachelle smiled fondly, flipping the page to reveal a few more pictures of the couple. She answered Anna's question before she had even heard it. "His name was Xander Harris. He was Cordelia's boyfriend in High School."  
  
She flipped the page again. On the right there was another picture of the couple, lounging on a beach towel among a younger looking Buffy and red head, whom was snuggled up against a boy with dyed blue hair.  
  
"They knew...Buffy?" Anna asked, tracing a finger over the blonde's smiling face.  
  
Rachelle nodded. "They were the original 'gang' as I've been told."  
  
Anna's eyes locked on Rachelle's. "She was a slayer?"  
  
"The Slayer." Rachelle confirmed, as Anna paled and then laughed at herself.  
  
"Things are making a bit more sense now."  
  
"Are they? Well let me tell you what I know and maybe things will be even more clearer." The brunette offered, pointing to a picture of Angel and Buffy. They were in a library, cuddled together on a single chair, smiling. Her eyes softened, turning a gilded gold. "She was sixteen when she fell in love with him. It was like Romeo and Juliet. The only vampire with a soul and the best Slayer there has ever been. She had mixed-match group of friends during high school; there was a prom queen, an average-Joe, a young witch and a werewolf. But they were loyal and true."  
  
"High School came and went. They had their ups and downs. Their break-ups and make-ups. And at the end of it all, it was time to move on. Angel and Cordelia went to L.A and I believe Oz stayed briefly before leaving Sunnydale as well. Angel created a business and eventually fell in love with Cordelia. She helped raise Angel's son Connor."  
  
"Vampires can have children?" Anna asked surprised.  
  
"No, not usually. It's a long story. One that I'm sure Spike would love to tell you about. But I'm sorry that's all I really know of Buffy. Most of the stories I have heard of her have come from Angel. Spike doesn't like to talk about her much."  
  
"Why not?" Anna turned the page, still shocked at seeing a mirror image of herself among people who lived over three hundred years ago.  
  
"I guess he's still in love with the memory of her?" Rachelle offered, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Angel told me their relationship had been dark. Buffy was in a hard place in her life and Spike had been without his soul. He had let himself be used and she had let herself be controlled. But when she died in a plane crash after they had apparently met up someplace in London. He had lost her once before and losing her again completely destroyed him. I don't think he's ever been the same."  
  
"That's all you know?"  
  
"Yes. I'm sorry. You'll have to ask Spike if you want to know more. He knew her more intimately than Angel ever had. But I don't know how willingly he'll be to the aspect of talking. He doesn't like to bring up the past."  
  
"I understand. I won't push." Anna said softly, caressing the image of a smiling Buffy as she glanced almost wistfully down the hall.  
  
~ The two vampires had remained silent for quite sometime, each deep in their own thoughts. They were both thinking and weighing over the same thing, only Spike was the first to verbalize it.  
  
"So what are we going to do?"  
  
Angel bit the inside of his cheek. "I'll do some research. There could be prophecies. Maybe you should let the gang in on this? They could help with the research."  
  
"I might do that," Spike contemplated the thought. Not really wanting to expose his whole past like he knew he would have to if he did decide to let the gang in on this. They would want reasons and they would need explanations. Spike was never crazy about explaining himself to begin with, and he definently didn't want to explain actions that he had done more than three hundred years ago.  
  
"I'll try to find Whistler as well. Perhaps he knows something." Angel added, his mind spinning.  
  
"What do I do?" Spike asked, feeling helpless. He hated feeling helpless.  
  
"Research what you can. But other than that--nothing. Just make the girl feel at ease. Keep a close watch on her and look for any signs of...reincarnation. Keep me updated on anything new."  
  
"Right then. Simple enough."  
  
"Oh, and Spike?"  
  
"Yeah?" Spike glanced up, met his grand-sire's compassionate brown gaze.  
  
"You can be her Watcher first and foremost, Spike. You can teach her the best fighting techniques and how to protect the hellmouth. But don't let her physical appearance stop you from being a man as well. So be her friend too, William."  
  
"Right." Spike lowered his gaze to his hands and fiddled with a silver band around his thumb. "Be her friend." 


	7. Chapter Six: La Château de Guillaume Le ...

A/N: Wow! This chapter came to me fast...it's a bit more light-hearted and I'm sorry if I confuse you with all the names. Next chapter will be more focused on Anna as the slayer and pieces to the bigger picture will begin to form.  
  
  
  
It's all Coming Back To Me Now  
  
Chapter Six: La Château de Guillaume Le Sanglant  
  
There were moments of gold  
  
And there were flashes of light  
  
There were things I'd never do again  
  
But then they'd always seemed right  
  
~Celine Dion  
  
"It's so...quiet." Anna commented, stepping across the threshold and into the front hall of the impressive mansion.  
  
"It's eight in the morning, Pet. For the gang it's bedtime."  
  
"Oh. They live here as well?"  
  
"Oui." Spike said absently as he shrugged out of his duster, draping the well-loved leather over his arm. Anna followed his lead, as she glanced around the room, and pulled off the light caramel-colored coat she had finally talked Spike into letting her buy at a small shop on Rodeo Drive before they had left for the teleport station.  
  
The front hall was a pale blue, so pale it was almost white. Leviathan walls reached towards the sky on all sides till they met a huge dome window where some rays of early morning sun leaked through, spilling across the glazed wooden floors. A winding staircase covered in a rich floral carpet lead up the right wall to wind up and disappear behind the walls, which Anna suspected, where it curved around the whole house.  
  
"Never thought you were one for floral print, Spike." Anna said, turning to face him with an amused smile.  
  
"Bugger off, love. I had no say in the bloody floral print. It was all Jada's idea!"  
  
His gentle smile and reflexive outburst was an unexpected reaction to both vampire and slayer. Anna was amazed, while on the other hand; Spike was horrified because for a moment he had forgotten it wasn't just Buffy smiling back at him.  
  
"I guess I'll show you to your room." His smile faded and he quickly turned, heading upstairs. Anna had no choice but to follow. She had known the second he closed himself off from her and it was unnerving to say the least.  
  
When they reached the top, they took a right down the hall. It was papered in a crisp jade, white marbled-framed paintings hung elegantly on the walls. Anna eyed them with approval. She hadn't the knack for painting, but she appreciated it as much as Cooper, being an artist, had taught her to. The thought of Cooper had her realizing she hadn't really thought about the fact that her boyfriend was on the other side of the Atlantic, nor what she was going to do about that. But she figured she'd have more time to think about that later and pushed the thought aside.  
  
"Nice paintings," she quickened her steps so she caught up to his side and pointed a finger to the walls. "I really like the one of the little girl hiding in a coal bin. Strange, but compelling."  
  
She watched him, out of the corner of her eye, and sensed the ghost of a smile before it began to appear across his lips. Unsure of why she had caused it, but glad she had, she let him tug her subconsciously down the hall as his voice softened in amusement.  
  
"They're Nibblet's. Dawn started to fancy painting after she had Liane. You would of been so proud of..." He cursed himself silently, finding that he'd done it again.  
  
But Anna only laughed, a small delightful giggle, and threaded her arms around his waist comfortably. Anna tilted her chin, eyes sparkling teasingly, and Spike noticed they seemed greener than normal. He drew in a pseudo breath and stared at her in shock.  
  
"That makes sense now. Dawnie always loved your stupid stories. Perhaps that's because you had a thing for drawing out...climaxes."  
  
Then he shuddered, eyes closing briefly as he dipped his fingers into the gilded strands of gold at the nape of her neck. Afraid to use her name, he instead whispered, "Love?"  
  
Anna smiled, her own fingers sliding into his hair. Her voice softened, eyes turned serious and solemn. "You did a good job of raising her, Spike. You protected her 'till the end of the world. You kept your promise and I appreciate that more than I think I could ever say."  
  
"Buffy." Her name was a strangled gasp and then he crushed her to him, hugging her tight.  
  
"Spike? Spike? What the hell are you doing?" Anna struggled out of his death-like grip and backed a few steps away, stunned.  
  
"I'm---Anna. I don't know." He frowned and gaped at her confused face. Why had he been hugging her? He couldn't seem to remember. The past five or so minutes were wiped clean from his memory and, it appeared that, so was hers. "We were talking about Dawn's paintings and..."  
  
"Who's Dawn?"  
  
"She's..." Spike sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Bloody hell. She just this girl, alright?"  
  
His anger startled Anna, so she nodded slowly. Then looked behind her where they had stopped at the end of the hall. "Is this my room?"  
  
Spike nodded toward the closed door and backed calmly away from her. "You'll find your belongings that Sasha and Louis retrieved in boxes on the floor. There's a door on the other side that connects to a bathroom. That bathroom connects to a private hall that leads to my bedroom. That way you can reach me quickly if there ever is an emergency. May I stress the word emergency?"  
  
"Yes." She said, with a tiny smile. "I understand."  
  
"Alright then. I'll leave you so you can get settled in. Oh, I suspect you'll fancy going shopping soon?"  
  
Anna's eyes danced, as every female's did, when the notion of shopping was mentioned. "I get a new wardrobe?"  
  
"Anything you want, Pet." Her jubilated squeal had his lips curving, while his mind shuddered at rapid and bright images his mind formulated of different times he had shopped with Dawn, then Rachelle, and ending with Nell and Jada. Perhaps he could let Nell and Jada do the shopping with the new slayer. "As long as you can slay in it."  
  
"Yay," she rubbed her hands together. "Shoppy goodness."  
  
"Alright Slayer. Make yourself at home." Spike said, not knowing what else to say, and then walked away.  
  
~  
  
Her room was gorgeous. Spacious and elegant. Sheer white curtains set off gold walls, dark lustrous wood, and ceiling high windows, the light material tumbled to the pearl-white carpet, held together by gold tasseled rope. She had gold light fixtures; lamps on her two bedside tables, one crystal chandelier hung from her ceiling, and gold candlesticks had been arranged tastefully on her matching wooden dresser where a large mirror, that reflected her image in threes, sat upon.  
  
Her bed was a sable four post, with pure white sheets that looked like heaven to sleep on. When she had the nerve to lie across the mattress, she was surprised to look up and discover her image displayed for her in the antique mirror that went the length of her bed. There were pillows, millions of them, all white and gold in color, which had been organized according to size. The same sheer white curtains that hung from her windows draped from her bed and could be pulled closed. There were vines of silk white roses that climbed the beautiful hand-carved bedposts and when Anna saw those, her toes curled in pleasure.  
  
She had found three doors in her bedroom; the door she had entered from, a door to a beautiful walk-in closet, and the door Spike had promised that led to a matching bathroom. The counter to the sink went the length of one wall; beautiful glass vases held real and fresh white roses. There was a large white marble tub that was filled to the top with warm water and when she dipped her hand in absently, she found out that rose petals were scattered in the water as well. Additional gold candles sat in the corner, along with a collection of soaps and shampoos. There was a glass shower as well, and in a cabinet she found a good supply of fluffy white towels, toilet paper, and various other necessities. The toilet was tucked in the back corner discreetly, but its gold seat matched the room to perfection.  
  
After been charmed by her room for an hour, she set about putting away her belongings. She felt almost guilty about cluttering up room with her things. She found it sad that she could fit all her clothes in three of the four drawers of her dresser. She had been a college student and money had been tight, especially with rent. But she brightened when she remembered Spike had promised to take her shopping. Hopefully, she'd get to fill up most of her closet.  
  
When all her belongings were put in place, she took a shower and washed off the grime of teleporting. After she was clean and freshly scrubbed, she selected to wear a pair of denim cut-offs, which showcased her long, slim, but cut legs. She chose a worn in baby tee that said "Columbia University" in blue lettering. Pins twisted up her sun-kissed hair and a few slippery strands slid from their place to frame her sweet face and kiss the nape of her neck.  
  
She looked like the charming, normal American girl that she was. And the fuzzy blue slippers only added to that charm. So when she walked into the kitchen where Spike and the gang were lazily stirring about, munching on food that one of the cooks had prepared, Spike froze while the other men gave her long appreciative glances and the women sized up the competition.  
  
"Uh...hi? I was wondering if I could get something to eat?"  
  
~  
  
"Doesn't Thomas make the best ham sandwiches?" Nell Channing asked and watched Anna take another bite, her young face bright and trusting. She was sixteen and would be turning seventeen at the end of the year. She had straight blonde hair and clear blue eyes with honey-colored lashes that curled at the edges. She was the youngest of the gang, but an extremely powerful Wiccan who also had the side benefit of being part of the long line of Dawn Summer's blood. That fact earned her a place in Spike's life, but it also earned her his fatherly protection like Rachelle.  
  
"He does." Anna agreed and smiled warmly at the teenager.  
  
"Nell, stop swarming around Anna." Sasha Salinski reprimanded from his seat next to Anna, then reached over and tossed a potato chip in his mouth. He grinned cheekily when she swatted at his hand.  
  
Spike scoffed, setting the empty mug of blood in the sink. "Like you should talk. You're swarming around her as well, mate."  
  
"Can't help swarming around a beautiful lady." Sasha replied easily, causing Anna to blush a pretty pink.  
  
"You weren't so charming in New York, Sasha."  
  
"And you weren't so pretty."  
  
"Ewww, Sasha. Can I say lame and mildly insulting to the poor girl?" Jada Rivera asked coolly, then smiled toward Anna, her nose ring sparkled in the fading late-afternoon sun that streamed through the kitchen window, where she was perched on the counter. She was intimidatingly beautiful, a perfect mix of Haitian and French blood. Her long dark brown hair was curled almost enviously to perfection and her brown eyes were guarded with sophistication. There was a hard edge to her, but she had a soft side for fashion in which she displayed now in a tan top, short mini-skirt, and knee high boots.  
  
"Jai, you know you're the true one that holds my heart." He reached out and caught her hand in his and kissed it lavishly.  
  
"Obtenez vos hormones sous la commande et vos mains outre de ma femme." (Get your hormones under control and your hands off my girl.) Louis Monet warned, brown eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
Jada smiled, slid off the counter and kissed Louis on the open mouth. "Vers le bas bébé. Vous savez que ce coeur appartient à vous et à vous seulement. (Down babe. You know this heart belongs to you and you only.)  
  
Louis grinned lovingly and, playing with a silver hoop earring, said in rough English, "I know."  
  
"Y'all make me sick." Aiden Quinn mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn. He was a tall; dashingly handsome with pale green eyes without a hint of gold in the irises, and he had black hair that was long enough to begin to curl around his ears. He was twenty and had grown up in South Carolina. Like Nell, he was powerful with magic and as well as a descendent, not of Summer's blood, but of the Wilson blood which was tied immediately to the surname Rosenburg. That made him just as valuable to Spike as Nell was. "Y'all make me wish I never learned a damn word of French."  
  
"I think it's sweet." Nell defended, taking Anna's empty plate from her and tossing it in the trash.  
  
"It sounded beautiful." Anna agreed, with wistful eyes. "I need to learn French."  
  
"I'll teach you some." Aiden offered and felt his heart trip in his chest when the Slayer's eyes lit up with pleasure.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"Vous ne pouvez pas parler français bien du tout, Aiden. Comment comptez- vous enseigner au Tueur quand vous ne pouvez pas le parler vous-même ?" (You can't speak French well at all, Aiden. How do you expect to teach the Slayer when you can't speak it yourself?)  
  
"Huh?" He looked to Spike, his model-like mouth slack in surprise.  
  
The vampire grinned and shared an amused look with Louis, Jada, Nell and Sasha. "End of discussion. Point proven. I'll teach her." It didn't matter that Aiden probably had more patience than Spike, which was required in teaching someone a new language, because the fact of the matter was he didn't like the looks Aiden had been throwing at the girl during the past hour.  
  
Nell laughed, but slung an arm around Aiden's waist affectionately. "It's okay. We can teach her some magic. That's something you're better at."  
  
"True," he visibly brightened. "I'll teach you a floating spell. They're fun."  
  
"Ready to go shopping, Slayer?" Spike asked, resting his arms bare arms on the countertop.  
  
"Always." She quipped smartly, and Spike decided he loved her spunk. She was so much like her, yet he could still see the differences. She was independent, but not sad. She had not been through the trials that Buffy had nor had she seen the horrors, but she would eventually. She would see horrors and he hoped he would prepare her enough for life on a hellmouth.  
  
"Good. Mes chère filles will take you out on the town. Oui?"  
  
"Oui!" Nell exclaimed with wide eyes as he handed over a wad of money to Jada.  
  
"Merci, Spike." Then Jada turned and swiftly kissed Louis. "Au revoir amoureux. Attente vers le haut pour moi ?" (Goodbye lover. Wait up for me?)  
  
"Oui, toujours." (Yes, always.)  
  
She laughed; a seductive, low, throaty sound. "Good. Let's go shopping, girls."  
  
"Wait, shouldn't we take Anna on her first patrol?" Sasha questioned, causing them to pause at the doorway. They looked back to Spike who shook his head.  
  
"Non. The boys and I will patrol tonight. She'll start tomorrow."  
  
The girls gave Spike a grateful smile and rushed out the door, while Louis, Sasha, and Aiden grumbled behind him. When they were gone, Spike turned to the three other men and gave each a silent look. "You'd rather go clothes shopping with them?"  
  
They all frowned, realizing Spike was right as always.  
  
"But can't we just get drunk off our asses instead?" Aiden asked, face hopeful.  
  
"Maybe after." Spike granted and, managing a smirk, let the craziness of the past few days dissipate. "Bloody hell, all right. I was in the mood to get snookered."  
  
Louis laughed, reached into the refrigerator and passed around some beers.  
  
~  
  
Across the city, where the shadows are darker and demons walk around without fear, in an old brick building with windows painted black, and up three flights of stairs a beautiful, yet sinister, dark-haired women awoke startling her lover he lay beside her.  
  
"Darling, what's the matter?"  
  
"The stars...my dear boy...the stars are shifting. The light...the light is here again...and it has a larger purpose than before. She will carry...a present. A little present for the world."  
  
"What light?" He asked, slightly unnerved by his girlfriend's odd look in her eyes. They were usually a dark brown, but they had shifted to black, and he'd never seen her look like this before.  
  
"The Slayer, Julius. Pretty and deadly. Do you like deadly things...my pet? Like a knife and cows with pretty bells. Do you like bells?"  
  
He ignored her mindless questioning. "Who told you this?"  
  
She laughed, her pale naked flesh arching in delight, and looked over at him.  
  
"Miss. Edith." She clapped her hands together in ominous, child-like, joy. Then, pausing she wrapped her hand around him and stroked him tenderly, teeth nipping at the line of his strong jaw. Then whispering in his ear, she spoke with a clarity she rarely possessed, as she brought him to a shuddering climax. "It has begun, my boy. It has finally begun and we mustn't drain the gift red until the light is full. But we must drain it red...eventually." 


	8. Chapter Seven: Instincts of a Killer

It's All Coming Back To Me Now  
  
Chapter Seven: Instincts of a Killer  
  
There were nights of endless pleasure  
  
It was more than any laws allow  
  
Baby, Baby  
  
~Celine Dion  
  
"I don't know about this." Anna faced Spike, raised her fists slightly, and bounced around on her bare feet. "I've only done boxing. I've never done something quite like this before."  
  
"S'easy, Pet. Just stop me from hitting you." Spike slipped into a fighting stance with grace that required years of practice. "Come on now. I'll make it easy. You throw the punches and I'll block."  
  
"I don't know." Anna bit her lip, hazel eyes worried and timid.  
  
It was an expression Spike had only seen on that face once before. He remembered that night; the scent and texture of her skin beneath his roaming fingers while she was chained and shackled to his bed as he leisurely dipped his head between her quivering thighs. There had been a flash of panic, a swirl of desire, and a ripple of the knowledge that he had complete control over her. Back then, alone in his crypt, he'd revisit nights like that and feel arousal, but now he only felt despair. Sometimes, he thought he simply dreamt her into existence, but seeing Anna now, standing in front of him like this, he knew that could never be true.  
  
"Come on now, Pet. S'not hard." He coaxed, eyes understanding.  
  
"Cher, I think you're too intimidating." Jada offered her opinion, sprawled out on her back with her head rolled to the side, breathing hard. She just finished going a round with Aiden and he may be one silly American boy, but he sure could pack a punch. She brushed a few wispy curls from her face and smiled, "Maybe Louis could fight her first?"  
  
Spike snorted and Aiden laughed, his face shifting to merriment.  
  
"Louis?" Aiden couldn't help the bemused expression that crossed his face. Jada frowned and kicked at Aiden's shin with her foot, but he just laughed. "Ow, Jai. Careful, you'll give me shin splints."  
  
Louis scowled at them all from where he was lounging on a pile of mats alongside Sasha, while Nell was trying to teach them a simple net spell. Jada gave him an apologetic look and then shot Aiden a deadly glare.  
  
"Jai," Aiden reasoned. "Louis can't street fight to save his or your life. You know that."  
  
"Shut up, Aiden." Louis, having enough of the teasing, got to his feet, yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him. He walked over to Spike and Anna and gave her a small smile. Spike stepped back when he saw the determined set of Louis' jaw and allowed him into the center ring.  
  
"I will fight you, Anna. But I am not too good."  
  
"That's okay. I'm not too sure I'll be any good either." Anna smiled warmly, already gaining respect for this man. She raised her small fists and rolled her shoulders, "Okay, so I guess you punch me now?"  
  
Louis gave her a wide grin at that, and hunched forward slightly, moving toward her. Anna moved backwards in response. Spike, leaning against the training room wall, watched them with rapt attention as Louis threw a light punch at Anna's stomach in which she blocked with a twist of her arm. Her reflexes were good, Spike noted, but they could be refined. She still had much to learn.  
  
"Good job." Aiden praised from where he stood, wrapping his sweaty arms around a black punching bag, as Anna blocked another one of Louis' half- hearted attempts at getting in a good hit. She was good, but she was still a bit timid in her movements. She had yet to throw a punch of her own.  
  
"Stop. That was bloody awful." Spike shook his head when she at last managed to land an unassertive punch to her opponent's chest.  
  
His mouth curved in distaste, stepping between the two. She was holding back and he realized he'd have to get her defenses up before she'd let loose, but about what he'd get her pissed about he did not know. He figured that maybe some insults would do the trick. So he snorted, eyes turning cold with practiced ease, and was satisfied with the look of surprise that crossed her face.  
  
"You're the Slayer. You're supposed to have super strength and all that bloody jazz. I don't see it. How are you going to save the world when I wager you couldn't even hurt a fly?"  
  
Anna's, eyes shimmering a bright emerald at his insult, stance stiffened. When her chin tilted upward, he saw something flicker within her heated gaze.  
  
"Did you practice the cold bastard routine over the years or were you just born like that?" She snapped and her arms came up naturally in defense toward his advancing movements.  
  
"Don't know, love. You tell me." Spike grinned and, moving forward with a predator's grace, threw a fast punch at her ribcage. She blocked his advancement easily, then slipped around his reaching hands and rammed her elbow into his nose. He reeled backwards from the hard blow.  
  
"Ow! Bloody hell! How come you slayer's always go for my bleedin' nose?" He cried, wiping the blood from his face.  
  
"It is bleeding...isn't it?" Anna asked and felt the thrill of the fight pump through her veins in hard exhilarating jolts when he grinned at her sarcasm. She blinked her eyes innocently and felt at ease, finding a rhythm that her body seemed to respond eagerly to.  
  
"That all you got?"  
  
"Not at all, kitten. I haven't even begun." He caught the leg she swung up at his head and was about to twist it when she brought her second leg up as well, wrapped it around his arm and tossed him over her head.  
  
"Neither have I." She stood smirking above him, breathing hard. Her hair made a glimmering waterfall of gold over her shoulders.  
  
"Oh, she's good." Nell looked to Sasha and he nodded with a dazed look, for he had been admiring the way Anna's muscles had moved beneath the silky skin of her arms.  
  
"She's got him pissed off now." Louis proclaimed in complete amusement, with his eyes riveted to the fighting pair. He slid next to his girlfriend and kissed her cheek, fingers stroking through the short sweaty curls at the base of her neck. "Think she'll win?"  
  
"I don't know. She's surprisingly good." Jada murmured and watched the pair trade blows and insults as if they had been doing it all their life.  
  
And for Spike, that was more or less the truth, because he was reliving memories he had fought to banish from his mind. It was like putting on an old pair of shoes one thought he lost; yet suddenly stumbled upon. It exhilarated and pained him all at the same time.  
  
But for Anna, when she finally had time to think, she was amazed at herself. She had never done anything like this in her life, but her body recognized it as well as her heart. This was who she was. She was the Slayer. Beneath her skin, something within tingled. It felt like triumph...or maybe longing...and then love. She felt love and forgiveness. She felt it, but then it was gone so quick she had neither the time to question or analyze it for Spike had returned to his feet. He threw a right hook, in which she ducked, but he had anticipated her move and he wrapped an arm around her neck and tugged her toward him.  
  
"Come on, Pet. That the best you got?" Spike whispered darkly into her ear, hoping to evoke fear, as his fingers dug into the silky gold that was her hair and tugged back roughly, exposing the bronzed skin of her neck. She let out a small gasp and her eyes darted to his face. He heard her pulse quickened and felt the faint trace of blood lust wash over him, a feeling he hadn't felt in decades.  
  
He slipped into gameface and grinned, "You know I could kill you now? Sink my fangs into that pretty little neck of yours and drain you dry."  
  
"You...wish..." Anna ground out between clenched teeth as she swept her leg back and brought Spike tumbling to the ground. Straddling his waist with some unknown natural force driving her onward, Anna brought her arm back and then back down, mimicking a staking. They stared at one another for what seemed an eternity.  
  
Then she laughed and smugly announced, "I won."  
  
"She's good." Aiden laughed as well. "She got you Spike!"  
  
"She did." Louis and Sasha agreed. "She's real good. Technique's a little sloppy, but she's resourceful. Isn't she, Nell?"  
  
"She is...but Spike's still better." Nell answered and her icy blue eyes studied the pair attentively. She felt a connection between Anna's energies and her own. There was something special about this Slayer. She decided she was going to find out exactly what made her special, and promised herself that she would corner Spike later on today.  
  
"Uh uh, pet." Spike scolded like he might to a child, before, flashing her a sleek look, he had her pinned beneath him. His heart ached at the knowledge that Anna had the grace, the wit, and the resourcefulness of his Slayer. But she still had a lot to learn. He starred down at her flushed face and vowed, to the Powers and himself, that he'd help her become the second best slayer that ever lived.  
  
Spike's tone lightened conversationally, as did the intensity of his gaze. "Hypothetically, if you did have a stake, you were two inches from the heart. You would have missed and now Chéri, I would have killed you."  
  
For a moment, Anna thought he was going to lean in and take a quick sample, but instead his face melted back into its human form and he got to his feet. He offered her a hand up and smiled.  
  
"You're good, but you still have a lot to learn. Lucky you got me as your Watcher." Then he turned toward the gang and ordered out directions. They were going to teach her some fighting drills, as well as the proper way to use a stake.  
  
"Yeah," Anna whispered to herself, still dazzled by the quick display of dimples she'd seen. "I guess I am."  
  
~  
  
"Monsieur, vous m'aiment prendre n'importe quoi du marché pour vous?" (Sir, would you like me to pick up anything from the market for you?)  
  
"Hmmm?" Spike frowned, wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, and looked up from the pile of books and papers scattered across his desk. Noëlle simply raised a delicate brow, eyes a wide tawny brown, as she straightened a few crooked books in their bookcase. At his dazed look, she repeated her question and easily masked her annoyance under a cheerful tone.  
  
"Ah...non." Spike answered, giving her a quick but distracted smile. His fingers flipped idly through the yellow-aged text and he couldn't help the distressed sound that escaped his throat. He hated research and even centuries of being a Watcher hadn't changed that simple fact.  
  
"Monsieur, you...look...ah, tired?" Noëlle fumbled a bit over the English that she had Pierre, the main cook, teach her on weekends. She learned it for her Monsieur, for she so wanted to be able to understand him better. Despite the fact that he was extremely fluent in français, he was still an Englishman at heart. And no one took as much time to observe that unpretentious fact then Noëlle.  
  
"Do I?" Spike asked absently, lifting his gaze to meet hers. He ran a hand over his face and set his glasses on the desk, "I don't feel very tired."  
  
"Ah, but Monsieur you do. You look...very...tired. You need to...ah...relax?" She suggested as subtly as possible. She sidled up to him, pressing her soft breasts against the hard planes of his chest. Then smiling seductively, her actions no longer subtle, she batted her long lashes flirtatiously. "Can I help relax you, Monsieur?"  
  
Spike laughed and shook his head, clearly amused. "Relax me, eh?"  
  
"Oui." She whispered breathlessly, mistaking his tone for flirtation as well. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of finally getting what she'd always wanted. She slid her hands underneath the thin material of his blue button-down, and at the feel of the taut muscles beneath her curious fingers she let out a pure feminine sigh. "Let me...Monsieur. Oh..."  
  
"Stop." His grip on both her wrists was fierce and sudden. As well as the cold look in his eye. "I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Not...in the mood?" Noëlle repeated dumbly, letting him pull her hands from under his shirt. He released his hold on her and she took a step back. Her eyes darkened to a hard gold.  
  
"You...you lead me on...Monsieur. You--you--vous...avez un...un--" She sputtered indignantly.  
  
He clucked his tongue against his cheek, lips slipping into familiar smug lines.  
  
"Now, now, pet. You know that's not true. I may have considered taking you to bed in my mind," he tapped a finger to his temple. "But...I never lead you on."  
  
"Non, vous..."  
  
Spike's faced turned impassive and hard. "Are you done in here, Noëlle?"  
  
Noëlle had opened her mouth to let out a few interestingly put together sentences when Nell breezed in, blonde hair pin-straight and shiny. Noëlle noticed right away that Nell had gone out of her way to get done up to see Spike. The girl had darkened her eyes in smoky gray shadow lined with black and although the sheer white top and denim skirt were simple, they fit snug in all the right places.  
  
Noëlle sneered and barely concealed her seething contempt for the young witch when Spike shifted his attention, seamlessly and entirely, to Nell. She pouted long and hard in her Monsieur's direction, but without another word she slipped outside.  
  
"Kitten, what can I do for you?" Spike greeted, relieved that Nell had decided to make her entrance at the moment she had. Noëlle had been grating on his nerves. When Nell didn't say anything, he cocked his head to the side in question. "Nell? You look worried."  
  
"Who is she, Spike?" Nell finally blurted out, stepping closer to him. She wanted to understand why this woman threw him for such...such a loop. And why he got that glazed look in his eyes. She wanted to know why and then she would fix it. So she could be his hero, as he was hers. "I heard you crying last night. I know something's wrong."  
  
"Bollocks. I don't cry." Spike stiffened and stepped away. Being in such close proximity to his mini-bit made him want to tell her everything. "Nothing's wrong, pet."  
  
"Spike..." She warned, her pretty teenage lips of fleshy peach curled into a frown. She hated when he was like his. Why did he think she needed to be coddled and protected? She was seventeen after all. She wasn't a little girl. "Don't lie to me."  
  
"I'm not--"  
  
"Spike! I can feel it! I can feel her! Her blood, my blood...it feels the same. Who is she? Is she a relative? Is she..."  
  
Spike sighed. He hated the fact he could never lie to her. "Kitten...it's..."  
  
"It's what?"  
  
"It's complicated."  
  
"It's complicated?" Nell would have laughed if it weren't for his miserable and anxious tone. "That's all you're going to tell me? It's complicated?"  
  
"Anna...she looks like The Slayer."  
  
Nell 's brows furrowed in confusion. "I know she's the slayer...but that doesn't answer--"  
  
"No, pet. She looks just like THE Slayer. Bu--Buff--"  
  
"Buffy?" Nell supplied, only knowing that he had cared for this past slayer a great deal. But she didn't know to what extent. Spike was never one to share details willingly. Getting any intimate details on his past was like...pulling teeth from one of those rare--what were they called...oh yeah--white Siberian tigers.  
  
She'd seen one once at one of that gaudy circus' that rolled its way through Paris annually. She had been eight at the time and constantly doused in Spike's unconditional adoration. But nowadays she felt that half the time she was more of a burden than anything else.  
  
"The girl that saved you?"  
  
"Yeah, pet. She saved me." Spike answered, his face drained of emotion. He looked down at Nell, touched the tips of her hair in a sudden wave of tenderness. "Saved me too many times to count. But I'd like to think I saved 'er as'well."  
  
"You think Anna's a relative then?"  
  
"I don't know. S'possibility." His finger twisted around a lock of white gold and tugged playfully. "But you shouldn't worry your pretty lil' head about these matters."  
  
Nell's heart swelled, jumping joyfully against her ribcage. Her smile was sweet and her thin brows drew together in concern. "Did...did you ever think of reincarnation?"  
  
She regretted her suggestion as soon as she saw him draw away and turn from her. She rushed to apologize,"I'm sorry, Spike. It was just a thought--"  
  
"No. Angel suggested the same thing."  
  
"He did?" Nell was surprised. She hadn't known Spike had visited L.A recently. "When did you see him?"  
  
"Stopped by after I picked Anna up in New York."  
  
"How's Rachelle?"  
  
Spike smiled and his face softened, as it did at the mention of anyone who was somehow linked to his past Sunnydale days. "She's wonderful. Getting married to some wanker. Better treat her proper s'all I got to say."  
  
"I've met him twice. John's a wonderful man. He deserves her as much as she deserves him."  
  
Spike nodded and sagged back against his desk. His gaze drifted around idly and he rubbed a hand over his face.  
  
"You look tired." Nell observed, noting the dark circles that had started to appear beneath his eyes. She wondered if it was a normal thing for a vampire to be sleep deprived. "You should get some rest."  
  
"I'm not tired, pet. Don't worry about me. But you should run along. I have to get back to researching--"  
  
"I don't want to leave." She protested, a hint of desperation in her voice, as she came around the edge of the desk to settle herself between his knees. She looked up at him and tilted her dancer-like frame forward, hand pushing against his chest gently. She turned glistening mature sky-blue eyes on his questioning face and begged,"I love you, Spike. You know that...don't you?"  
  
He sighed, face softening once again. The sharp line of his jaw released its tension as his hands settled lovingly around her thin upper arms. Her skin was warm and as soft as rose petals beneath his fingers. It felt heavenly...and he thought maybe if he closed his eyes a bit...and imagined...  
  
"I know, my lil' kitten. I know," he whispered, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I love you too."  
  
"Oh, Spike," his name fell from her lips sweeter than honey, she rose on her tiptoes and her pretty unpainted mouth murmured sweet nothings. "Forget her, Spike. Forget her. She's dead. She's been dead a long time. But you're not. Please...you're so very much alive. So...alive."  
  
She pressed herself against him and her willowy frame bent and yielded to his body that had slowly begun to respond. Her heart skidded and tremored in euphonious jolts of pleasure that shot straight to her core. It was sweeter than anything she had ever dreamt up in the darkness of her bedroom.  
  
"Mmm. See....Spike. I knew...I knew..." She went on breathlessly and tilted her head to brush a kiss to his lips, but instead of meeting his mouth, her kiss skidded awkwardly across his abruptly turned cheek.  
  
"Chanelle...I can't."  
  
His voice was a swift punch to her heart, so calm and devastatingly placed, it knocked the wind out of her. She pulled away slightly, hurt and embarrassed. The use and the tone of her full name were how a father might speak to a disobedient daughter, not how a man might speak with a lover. But she wasn't his lover--yet. Oh, but if he'd only let her. She would give him everything and anything he'd ever want. She knew that. Was willing to.  
  
"Why?" She hated the fact that her voice trembled when she spoke.  
  
"You're seventeen."  
  
Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits a moment before she shoved a bony hand into his sternum. Her eyes spit fire and indignation, concealing the hurt and embarrassment that was swimming beneath her skin. "Don't give me that, Spike! I know all about you and Noëlle! I'm not stupid...and she's only three years older than me!"  
  
"Now, kitten. In all fairness, I never slept with the chit."  
  
"So?" She exclaimed and waved around her hands, desperate to stay in control of the conversation. "You still thought about it! There's no difference."  
  
"Nell!" Spike pushed up off the desk. He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake.  
  
"Would you listen to yourself? She's three years older than you are, pet! She's an adult! Adults are allowed to have adult thoughts for one another!"  
  
"I'm not a little girl anymore!" Water began to gather at the corner of her long lashes and she blinked with all the bravado she could muster, struggling to delay the tears that had welled up behind her eyes. Her lip trembled and she wrapped a hand in his shirt, voice tiny and fiercely upset. "Why don't you want me? Am I not pretty enough? I--I don't understand what's wrong with me? I..."  
  
Spike clenched his jaw as he struggled to keep his temper under control. But then she tilted her head and a single tear slipped down her porcelain cheek. He growled, shot control to hell, and grabbed her by her hips in a callous grip, pushing her flush against him.  
  
"Feel this? Of course I bloody want you, you stupid bint. Any man dead of alive would want you." He clutched fistfuls of hair and yanked her head back. She gasped, lips parting in surprise and arousal.  
  
"Oh," she whimpered, hands flying to his shoulders to steady herself.  
  
"Is this what you want, Chanelle? Want me to take you on this bloody forsaken desk?"  
  
"I..." Her pulse ran, tripped, and then stumbled. She knew he felt it, and he answered her with a saucy grin she'd never seen before. Oh, her heart squeezed in a tender ache, one that left her gasping. Did he see her? Finally see her as a woman and not a little girl? His hand traveled up her throbbing body, and dimly, through the onslaught of feeling, she thought, oh yes...God, yes, he does.  
  
Spike's hand cupped a breast and squeezed her soft flesh in a rough caress. She panted, eyes snapping open, and begged,"Kiss me. Please, kiss me."  
  
He smirked, his gaze burning a path of heat down her body, and he brought her closer. But as his head dipped, lips parting to envelop hers, he found her face had shifted. He pulled back and instead of seeing silky sun- bleached hair tangled around his fingers, it was the color of chestnut, red highlights gleaming. His stomach tumbled, knowing only one woman who had hair like that, and the wide mouth and eyes, filled with grief and loss, a shade darker than his own, confirmed everything.  
  
"Spike, it's because I'm not her. Right? You can't love me...like I love you...because I'm not my sister. I'm not Buffy." She echoed words that she'd said nearly three hundred years ago. His chest tightened.  
  
"Nibblet?" He made a choked sound, like he was drowning, and pushed her away. But it was Nell who stumbled back with a look of surprise.  
  
Spike blinked once, then twice, and turned, shoving his trembling hands in his pockets, away from her. "I can't. God. Just go. Please, just go."  
  
Nell bit her lip and took a small step forward. Her hand reached out for his shoulder, but he moved away from her and stalked moodily to the window. Her stomach knotted, twisting and turning deep in her gut. It pained her to see him like this, now knowing she couldn't help him, no matter how much she wanted to.  
  
"Spike..."  
  
"Nell," he pressed his brow against the sun-warmed panes of glass, closing his eyes in horror. His voice wavered in thick undertones. "Please...just go."  
  
Nell nodded to his back, lip tucked between her teeth. She bit harder on her bottom lip as more tears fell, staining her pretty face in transparent shades of embarrassment and rejection. Her eyes looked like a glossy water- colored afternoon sky before she closed them, finally turning away and fleeing to her room.  
  
"Bloody hell." He muttered to himself when he felt Nell's presence leave. His vision of Dawn still had him on edge. He remembered that day clearly, all sharp colors and scents and feelings. Oh God, the feelings. He never did tell his sweet lil' Nib what she meant to him. Never told her how much it grieved him to not be able to give her what she wanted. Just like it pained him with Nell.  
  
He gazed out the window, fingers absently tracing patterns into the glass. He felt the sun, warming his face and hands like the pleasant glow a good shot of bourbon gave a human. It was something he knew he would never get used to. He'd spent too many years in the dark to ever forget the secluded loneliness it brought. He remembered when he'd first gotten the Gem of Amara, how he had wished Buffy was alive. Wished she could see him, walking in the sun. Wished he could finally show her he could be the man she deserved, even when she didn't think she even deserved him. He would have proved it to her, like he did those couple of nights before she...before she left them again. His sugar-coated thoughts were the cruelest trick the Powers had ever--well maybe up until now--played on him, knowing he couldn't achieve the sweetness he had always longed for with his Queen. Because she was dead, deader than he was.  
  
Oh, he had picked a few fights that night and then downed five or six bottles of good ol' Jack Daniel's at the unfairness of it all. It had helped soften the burning pain to a resounding ache in the middle of his sternum, one that never did quite leave completely.  
  
Suddenly, a soft, elegant hand touched his shoulder, fingers grazing the side of Spike's neck. He jumped, startled and a bit annoyed that he had been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't felt her presence. But images of the scene before had him replacing any feelings of annoyance with shame.  
  
"I'm sorry. There's no excuse..."  
  
"Excuse? Excuse for what?"  
  
Spike turned at her voice, thoroughly surprised. "Anya."  
  
"Like my hair?" Anyanka smiled and ran her hands through it. It had been a curling, sunny blonde during her last visit, but now it was a straight as a pin deep brown. Spike had always preferred her as a brunette.  
  
"I do." He answered honestly and stepped away from the window, walking back to his desk. Anyanka's eyes, even more ancient than his, followed him in silent curiosity. She had one of those hawk-like gazes and it burned a hole into the middle of his back. Having learned her subtle mannerisms over the years, Spike relented. "I thought you were Nell. She decided to play a Dawn and throw herself at me."  
  
"I've been telling you that she would for years now."  
  
"I know. Should have listened to you." He let her approach him. She was wearing a pretty yellow sundress with tiny daisies that smiled and winked. It softened him up enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear in loving gesture. "Didn't know you were planning on stopping by, pet. It's still daylight."  
  
Anyanka rolled her eyes and Spike wondered how she had still managed to keep that blunt innocence humanity had given her so many years ago. But it didn't really matter how, all that mattered was she still had it, and he adored her for it.  
  
"Thank you mister obvious." Then she smiled cheerfully and showed off her dimples as she began to explain herself in a way that was all Anya. "Well, I had a bit of free time in my scheduling between client requests and the torture of their victims. Besides, it's been almost six months."  
  
Spike raised a brow when she tugged at his shirt, but he didn't stop her as she began to unfasten the buttons.  
  
"I need to relieve some stress." She hurried on, smiling every now and then. She batted her lashes dramatically and dipped a hand in to caress the smooth planes of his stomach. "Being a vengeance demon is a very stressful job I'll have you know...and nothing relieves stress quite like a few good orgasms. And you always do give good orgasms, Spike."  
  
She continued on conversationally, talking about a few mundane things as she pushed the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders and allowed the material to pool at her feet. She was left in lacy pink undergarments, sleek and feminine, and he couldn't help but admire her taste in lingerie. Tugging at his pants, she managed to unbuckle his belt and unsnap his black slacks. Then she tugged him toward her, a playful look in her eye.  
  
"I'm not in the mood," Spike sighed, but he didn't stop her roaming hands.  
  
She leaned up to brush her mouth against his in a friendly greeting. "Well, I'm in the mood..." Her clever hands traveled downward and stroked him briefly, like her kiss, with the tips of her fingers. "And you lie. You are more than in the mood, William."  
  
She dipped her head to place a kiss in the hollow between his pectorals, but he grabbed her head and made her look at him.  
  
"No, I'm--"  
  
"Oh."  
  
Anyanka understood then, because she got that same look some nights when she would give anything to have Xander back, and the playfulness left her face. She let Anya shine through, knowing he needed to see it and let him relish in the comfort that her eyes held just as many memories as his.  
  
"I heard about the new slayer. Angel told me as I was passing through." Her voice was full of sympathy and she watched as a memory blurred his senses. Then, she too remembered, suddenly in a flash of black and white, singing and dancing in that neat little apartment that had been all theirs, and her gaze softened.  
  
She didn't know how she would react if she met someone, who looked exactly like Xander, but wasn't really Xander. She couldn't imagine what Spike must have been feeling, but she wanted to comfort him, because she was his friend. So she smiled kindly, caressed his face and pressed a kiss to his jaw.  
  
"You're not Xander, Spike. You'll never be. No one will ever be. Just as I know no one will ever be Buffy." Anyanka stepped back, unhooked her bra and let the scrap of lace fall. She took his hand gently in hers and pushed it against her skin, let the warmth seep into his fingers. "Pretend, Spike. It's okay to pretend. It's okay."  
  
His eyes clouded, a hazy blue, and their lips met in a rush of pseudo passion based on a memory of another. He pushed her back, shoving papers and books to the floor in a sweep of his arm. The feel of her warm, squirming body beneath his allowed his mind to wander easily back to different days when his only sorrow was the fact that he might not be able to persuade Buffy into his bed for the night.  
  
"Buffy," he said desperately, full of love and longing. "God, Buffy. My Queen, my Heart, my Vixen."  
  
Anyanka arched beneath him, head thrown back in lust. She ran her hands through his hair, gentle and soothing, and even when he ripped pink lace and shoved two fingers inside her, she never stopped rubbing his scalp.  
  
"Oh," she whimpered and pressed her mouth to his shoulder. "See? I told you it was okay to pretend. It's okay. See? See?"  
  
"Love you, Buffy. Love..."  
  
"Yes, sweetheart. That's it." Anyanka continued to murmur soothing words and even when he brought her over that first glorious peak, the words she panted into his neck were, "It's okay." 


	9. Author's Note

To My Readers:  
  
I'm sorry that I haven't been pushing out chapters as quickly as I would, and I'm sure you would, like to. But I've been busy with work, school, and some family issues. My grandpa's really sick and as you understand, family comes first. In addition to that I just haven't been inspired to right the next chapter. I have it all fleshed out in my mind, and I know where my plot is going, what I want to achieve with it. I just haven't been able to transfer my thoughts to paper. But don't worry, I will put out a new chapter hopefully soon. ( Maybe within the month, but writer's block or lack of inspiration, as I call it, can not be helped. I haven't stopped writing. I've been working on a short ficlet, my hypothetical ending to S7. I've also had a fantasy or AU fiction dancing through my mind. But I haven't forgotten about Anna, Nell, Aidan, Louis, Jai, and all my other created or borrowed characters. So don't worry! I promise you my updates will continue soon.  
  
Much Love,  
  
Princess Jade 


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